Memento Mori
by Yseult Blanco
Summary: Shepard returns from the abyss, but she's broken, and her old friend, Garrus, has spent the last two years in hell. But maybe they can repair the damage... together. Possible game spoilers. Still in progress, continues into ME3 and beyond. Yes, there are sexytimes. Sporadic updates, love-driven writing engine.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard disclaimer: **

BioWare owns all rights to the Mass Effect world and characters. I borrowed them because the romance I got in game, while adorable, wasn't the one I wanted.  
So I decided to write my own. This story follows the plot of the second game loosely, but I make changes to events and dialogue as it suits me.  
This Shepard is a part Paragon, part Renegade Sentinel with Spacer / Sole Survivor background. Enjoy.

* * *

**One**

Garrus stared down the sight and splattered the merc's skull with a smooth shot, easier than breathing. That had become more difficult with each passing day. It had been two years, and the pain should've started to scale back, easing into something like acceptance. But it didn't.

Now he had nothing but rage to frame his emptiness like red dust carried away from a nuclear blast. A crater squatted in his core, and only heat remained, emanating outward until it threatened to devour him from the inside out. At this point, oblivion offered only the promise of relief.

More mercs charged the bridge, so eager to die. Using his visor, he calculated the trajectory of his shots and nailed two more, the fluid execution second nature. As they fell, their broken helmets bounced off, revealing their faces. Just kids, really, too young for this fucking mess, probably looking for a thrill, or maybe trying to earn enough credits for passage off the hellhole that was Omega. And such waste should've bothered him, but he had no more guilt to give. He owed it all to Shepard.

He'd never enjoyed fighting beside anyone more. She'd survived the battle of the Citadel—come limping over the wreckage—and he'd been light at heart in a way he couldn't articulate. _She's indestructible, _he'd thought, _like some warrior goddess. _The maws couldn't kill her on Akuze. Even Sovereign couldn't bring her down. But as it turned out, she was flesh and blood. Breakable.

_If I'd been with her, _he thought, replacing the thermal clip in his rifle. _If I'd said to hell with what the Alliance wants, if I'd had her back. _But it didn't matter now. He'd had been drowning for two long years, trying like hell to find some meaning in a universe that would carry her through so many trials, so many battles, only to let her die in one freak attack: one explosion too many, one unlucky break. And maybe that was the secret—that there _was_ no meaning. It was all black to the bone, and everyone ended up as rotting meat. With a succession of rapid shots, he cleared the bridge, knowing it was only a matter of time. Exhaustion would slow his reaction time, and he'd make a mistake. The mercs had an infinite number of bodies to throw at him.

So much had gone wrong, everything, in fact. He'd failed her. Failed his team. And so it was no surprise, he found himself out on a ledge with no way out but down. Trapped. Everything had gone to shit from the moment he first got the news. Crouched down against the wall, he closed his eyes and remembered.

***

"I don't care," Garrus told Chellick. "I'm not coming back to work at C-Sec."

He'd already had this argument with his father, who was outraged over his application to join the Spectres. There was nothing the elder Vakarian could do about it, however. The documents had already been filed, and due to his service aboard the Normandy, they'd bumped him to the head of the candidate list.

"If you're certain," Chellick said in disgust. "I wouldn't want a loose cannon like you on my team anyway."

He sighed and headed from embassy row toward the transit terminals. If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to be a Spectre exactly. He hadn't wanted to leave the Normandy at all. Over the course of the mission, they'd become friends—or at least, he thought they had. It was somewhat difficult for him to read human faces.

"I'm sorry," Shepard had said. "I don't want this. I'd love to keep you, Tali, and Wrex, but now that we've stopped Saren, the Alliance is coming down hard. They want this ship back to spec."

Garrus had nodded. "Which means a wholly human crew."

"Unfortunately. I… I'm going to miss you." It had been the most personal thing she'd ever said to him.

They'd joked around a lot, and he'd told her about Dr. Saleon. She'd gone with him to the ship and asked him, _are you sure, Garrus? _When he said he was, she gave the kill order. Just like that. He'd never had anyone put so much faith in his judgment before, and it was a turning point. After that, he'd have followed her anywhere, fought any battle. For _her_. Not because it was the right thing, but because she was Shepard.

Serving under Shepard had offered the closest thing to complete fulfillment he'd ever known. As a leader, she knew how to motivate people: when to comfort and when to kick them in the ass. She gave people's problems her full attention, and her personal strength—well, she impressed him. He'd read her file, and anyone who could survive Akuze had to be made of damn fine metal. She broke the rules when necessary, but never with excess violence. _Get the job done, whatever it takes, _she'd said to him once, _but never whip out your gun unless you're ready to pull the trigger—and never aim your gun if there's another alternative. _

"Me too," he'd said at last. "When do we disembark?"

"0900 tomorrow, we'll return you to the Citadel. It's been a pleasure, Garrus."

And so now, it was all over. No more missions on the Normandy. No more easy acceptance. It mattered again that he wasn't a good turian, no good at following bad orders. He climbed on a shuttle, heading to Spectre training, despite his father's anger and disappointment. At least he was following his own path, if he couldn't follow her.

The weeks passed. Sometimes messages from her arrived, short ones, mostly. The Normandy had been deployed, fighting the geth—cleanup missions, unworthy of the ship and the crew. But the Council disseminated the idea that Sovereign hadn't been a Reaper after all. Garrus snorted in disgust and turned off the vid, the first time he saw the special report.

And then, then… one visitor changed everything. Joker. Jeff Moreau, the helmsman with glass bones. He stood outside, body tilted in his strange way. "Can I come in?"

"Certainly." He stepped back, puzzled.

The other man didn't sit. Neither did he pace. "You won't have heard. They're keeping it quiet for now. But an enemy ship attacked the Normandy while we were running quiet."

"Not geth?"

Joker shook his head. "She went down on Alchera, Amada System, Omega Nebula." And his rote recitation masked something awful.

"Casualties?" he asked, low.

A terrible sickness rose in him, and he was glad Moreau couldn't read turian expressions, because he didn't know what his face might be saying. His mandible twitched in anticipation of pain.

"Pressly didn't make it. We lost nineteen more crew. And Shepard. She died saving my ass." Staccato sentences, like it hurt him to breathe in between each word, like his lungs were filled with glass.

_No. No. _He couldn't process the words. He wanted to blow Joker's head off because he was here, and he was to blame, but in the end, he just gave the man a numb nod of acknowledgment. Moreau left him alone with his grief. At least he hadn't found out from fucking Emily Wong. He tried to imagine what Shepard would do. How she would handle it. Doubtless, she would be brave. She would soldier on.

But he couldn't.

After that, he couldn't bear staying on the Citadel. Spectre training seemed pointless; it hadn't saved her. He'd wanted to get as far away from her memory as possible, go somewhere her footsteps had never trod. Omega. It was a cloaca of a station. If he wanted to find criminals there, he only needed to peer down his scope.

***

A new barrage of gunfire roused him. It had been days since he'd slept. The shots glanced just above his fringe, closer than he'd like. He was getting sluggish. It wouldn't be long now. The mercs sent another wave of shock troops designated to make the suicide run in hope that a few of them survived. Sheers numbers would overwhelm him soon.

Then things got interesting. A trio of commandos unloaded on the mercs from behind. Not a single shot fired in his direction. By their armor and weapons, they had credits, and they had skill, plus an interesting mix of biotics and artillery. He aimed a few rounds at them, mostly for show. He was curious enough to let them pass. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. _Through the scope, he identified one man's breastplate as Cerberus. The other had a face only a mother could love, scarred from years of combat. And the third? Smaller. Helmet in place, and completely armored, but he'd never seen any like it before. Not standard gear.

This new group fought hard, threshing through the mercs, and soon, they climbed the stairs. He waited in the middle of the room, well away from the windows, rifle in hand. The Blue Suns had to be frothing; they'd failed to kill him, _again_, even working in concert with the Blood Pack and Eclipse.

The two males flanked the smaller figure, but the way they stood slightly behind made him think they were subordinates. Then she removed her helmet, and time stopped. He knew this face. Scars marked her, but he _knew_ her. Only it couldn't be. She was dead, two years gone. And he'd finally lost his mind.

"Archangel?" Her voice, unmistakable.

_Maybe Joker got it wrong. _For the first time in more than seven hundred days, something like hope stirred in him, life returning to the ashes. And then he realized: _she has no idea who I am. _From his armor, she knew he was turian—and that was all.

He pulled his own helmet off, but it took him another moment to find his voice. "Shepard. I thought you were dead."

"Garrus!" Her arms opened as if she'd give him a hug, but they'd never had that. No touching, no intimacy. So her step faltered, though her smile didn't. "What are you doing here?"

"Just keeping my skills sharp, a little target practice."

This couldn't be real. She couldn't be here. Maybe he was dead already.

As usual, her blue eyes saw too much. Read too much. Unlike most humans, she had some facility with turian expressions. "You okay?"

_No, _he thought. _Not even close. My world's been spinning off its axis, and I expected to die here, alone. And here _you_ are in my darkest hour._

He voiced none of it. "Been better. But it sure is good to see a friendly face. Killing mercs is hard work, especially on my own."

Shepard cut him a knowing look, lofting her machine pistol. "Well, we're here now. You're not alone anymore. What're you doing anyway?"

"I went off the grid," he said. "Figured I could do more good on my own. At least it's not hard to find criminals here. All I have to do is point and shoot."

"Only you could manage to piss off every major merc organization in the Terminus Systems." Her words sounded light, but her tone didn't match. Tension.

"It wasn't easy. I really had to work at it. Frankly, I'm amazed that they teamed up to fight me. They must really hate me."

"Since when did you start calling yourself Archangel?"

"It's just a name the locals gave me, for all my good deeds. I don't mind it, but please..." He shook his head. "It's just 'Garrus' to you."

"I don't mean to interrupt this touching reunion," the scar-faced man growled. "Wait. Yes, I do. We've got mercs massing for another run at our position. What do you intend to do about it?"

"Kill them," Shepard said.

And they did. Like a well-oiled machine, they fought in tandem as they always had, and their enemies died en masse. First the rest of the Blue Suns, and then the Blood Pack struck. They tried to come in through the tunnels he'd blockaded.

"I'll take care of it." She checked her supply of heat sinks and signaled to the Cerberus dog, who fell in at her six. "Zaeed, stay here, and keep Garrus alive."

"You sure you want to split your forces?" he asked. "You may run into heavy resistance down there, and I've managed to survive this long."

Her blue gaze lingered. "I'm positive. I'm not taking any chances with you."

It was a hard fight, but in the end, she sealed tunnels, and came back up, blood-spattered but triumphant. Hard not to stop firing and just watch her. Hard not to demand explanations, but discussion could wait. They had to dig themselves out of the hole he'd made before there would be time for talking.

Just when he thought it was all clear, just when he thought they'd finished the bastards off, a gunship appeared in his sights, and blinded him with heavy rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

Shepard had lost damn near everything, including two years of her life. How the hell did they expect to her to acclimate so fast? _Your old life's over; your crew has moved on. _It bit deep that everyone had done that. Forgotten her, like she never mattered. Maybe it was vain, but she wanted somebody to care. Not that a war hero had been lost, if she'd ever been such a thing. But that she'd _died_—Shepard, the woman. At base, she wanted to be the center of somebody's world.

She'd been a good kid, never complaining that her parents dragged her from ship-to-ship, or that she hadn't seen an actual planet until she was ten. Then she became a good marine, following orders even when they got the rest of her unit killed. And what did she have to show for it now? Nothing.

_Fuck this. _She slammed a hand, hard, into the bulkhead. The dent flowed back into shape, but the pain focused her fear. Let her knot it into a hard little ball that she tucked beneath her breastbone. _Can't let this rule me. _

Finding Garrus on Omega made her determined not to lose him again. Having a friend from her old life would prove invaluable since people she didn't know and couldn't trust surrounded her. But it didn't look good. He'd taken a hell of a shot; anyone else would already be dead.

Jacob, the Cerberus officer, came out of sick bay, doing the _I have bad news shuffle, _and she tensed. "Commander, we've done what we could for Garrus, but he took a bad hit. The doc corrected what she can with surgical procedures and some cybernetics. Best we can tell, he'll have full functionality, but—"

_Full functionality._ That was all she heard; the rest of the man's words turned into noise. Garrus was going to make it, the stubborn bastard. Relief buoyed her until she felt like she'd been sucking back pure oxygen with a helium chaser. She let out a slow breath, and then stilled.

Garrus himself stepped into view. He looked none too steady on his feet, but his mandible flared in what she knew was a smile. She checked her movement toward him, knowing her joy had to be contained. It was unprofessional, and was likely born from the pleasure of not being alone in this fucking mess anymore. Once, she'd counted on him to have her back like nobody else, and it seemed she could again.

"Shepard." Somehow, spoken in his rough, dual-toned voice, her last name almost sounded like an endearment, an answer to a question she hadn't thought to ask yet.

She'd almost forgotten Cerberus-Jacob, watching them. "Tough son of a bitch. Didn't think he'd be up yet."

They both ignored the comment; Jacob had no place in their conversation. He could make nice all he wanted; he was still Cerberus, and this reunion belonged to the two of them, two survivors of untold woe. She saw the reflection of it in Garrus's eyes, not just in his injuries.

"Nobody would give me a mirror," Garrus said. "How bad is it?"

Half his face had been replaced with a prosthetic plate, marring the blue pattern she'd always admired. As turians went, he'd once been damn fine looking with his silvered skin, a fringe that shone platinum in the right light, and ice blue eyes. But the scars didn't matter. He was still here. Still Garrus.

"I won't lie to you. It's going to show. You'll have some scars."

"Hm. Well, some women find facial scars attractive." His tone became wry. "Mind you, most of those women are Krogan."

At last, Jacob took the hint offered by their long pauses and went back to the armory to tinker with the guns. Once they had some privacy, Garrus took a step toward her, and added, "Frankly, I'm more worried about you. Cerberus, Shepard? You do remember those sick experiments they were doing?"

Yeah, she did. She remembered the Thorian creepers, the husks, and the Rachni army. She remembered the pain of finding Admiral Kahoku's body. A good officer—a good _man—_died because of Cerberus, and she hated being forced to work with them. But they hadn't exaggerated the danger in the Terminus Systems. Someone had to investigate the missing colonists, and the Alliance had no jurisdiction. Her heart hurt. Sometimes the only choices were bad ones.

She took a deep breath and tried not to reveal any of her fear and uncertainty. They'd wanted her to come back exactly as she had been, but she hadn't. At least, she didn't recall feeling so displaced before. Nothing fit; nothing made sense. Out here, there was no chain of command, other than that fucking Illusive Man, and she sure as shit didn't trust him. Even his name meant "not real."

"That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side."

"You realize this plan has me walking into hell, too." He laughed softly, but bitterness laced the sound like ricin in a poisoner's cup. "Just like old times. I'm fit for duty whenever you need me, Shepard."

He wasn't. In truth, neither was she. Her injuries hadn't fully healed. They both had scars. Which gave them even more common ground.

"Let's go upstairs," she said. "We have a lot to talk about while you heal up."

He didn't protest. Merely took in the improvements, including her quarters in the loft of the ship. "Nice. This is bigger than the old Normandy. They spared no expense."

"And that worries me. It implies they think they can buy me." She gestured for him to take a seat on the couch, and then sat on the other end.

As he did, he answered, "Then they don't know you very well."

God, it felt good to hear that from someone who _did_ know her. Or who had. Sometimes she thought she could feel the hardware working beneath her skin, and in those dark moments, she wondered whether she was even fully human any longer. Maybe she was more of mechanical echo, kindled through lightning in dead synapses. Ghost. Revenant. The possibility sent chills down her spine.

"You must have questions."

"I got the gist. You died. They brought you back. Somehow."

"They spared no expense in that either. But funny thing—I had a lot of creds saved up, mostly from all that prospecting while we were hunting Saren. So where've they gone?" She raised a brow. "When I checked my balance, I only had 300K in there."

"You think they cleaned out your accounts for this?"

"Maybe. Otherwise, it all should've gone to my next-of-kin, right?"

"Strange."

"You're talking to a dead woman. How much weirder can it get?" She shrugged, angling her body to face him. "Anyway, I'd rather hear about you. How exactly did you end up on that bridge?"

"Do we have to go into all of it? Right now?"

"Of course not."

_Tactless, _she chided herself. Obviously it had been something terrible, and he wasn't ready to talk about it. She could relate.

"Joker gave me the news," he said abruptly. "He came to the Citadel before the story broke wide. He blamed himself."

How bizarre to listen to him talk about how he heard about her death. What did you even say to something like that? Death was supposed to be the ultimate farewell, not life-us interruptus, and _oh, hey, I'm baaack._

But he went on doggedly, "That was why I ended up on Omega… you left memories all over the Citadel. I could see you in the ruins of the Presidium. I remembered fighting with you up in the tower. We drank in Chora's Den and gambled in Flux. Everywhere I had to be, I saw you there, and so I couldn't stay. Not a minute longer, because you weren't coming back."

_Revelational. _She'd known he looked up to her—that he valued her prowess with a pistol and he admired her warp fields, and that they'd often competed to see who could overload a geth the fastest. But she hadn't known he cared. Not like this; it was a depth of friendship she'd rarely known. And for the first time, she felt like a person again: someone who _mattered_, not a collection of random muscle groups, neural pathways, and electrical wire.

"You have no idea what it means to hear that." To her disgust, her voice came out husky, tear-roughened, but she swallowed them back. "Everything's different. For everyone else, the world moved on, but I woke up expecting to find my crew waiting for me. Instead I learn I've been spaced, and that the damage was so bad, it took more than two years to get me going again. And part of me wonders why they couldn't just let it end. I earned it, right? That peace. That silence. That hero's death."

"Maybe they weren't ready to let you go," he said.

_Them… or you? _But she couldn't ask. Clearly it surpassed the parameters of their relationship. This wasn't their camaraderie of old, but then again, Garrus wasn't the same impassioned idealist anymore, either. Weary disillusionment lurked in his eyes now, shadowed by an anger that smoked like water on dry ice.

On impulse, she reached for his hand, in part wanting to comfort. The other half just wanted to touch him to be sure he was real. He wore no armor; his blue suit had been damaged in the firefight. His casual clothing left his hands bare, and his talons were weapons unto themselves. His skin felt different: rough and hot, but leathery on the backs of his hands. The underside was thinner and softer, though not as much as her own. Apparent astonishment stilled him, and then he did something unexpected. He slanted his palm across hers and curled his three fingers around her hand. Not hand-holding in the human fashion, more of a clasp, but between the newness of it, and the fever-heat of his inner skin, the gesture felt curiously intimate.

She ducked her head, unable to look him in the face. "I can't tell you how happy I am that I found you on Omega when I went looking to recruit Archangel. I didn't expect to, you know. The Illusive Man said Cerberus had no idea where you were… that you'd simply fallen off the grid."

A pause. A breath. Two. And then: "You asked about me?"

"Of course."

Actually, she'd asked about him first. Because he'd fought beside her from the moment he left everything behind to follow her. Nobody had ever done that before. Not without being ordered to, at least. He'd had a career on the Citadel. Friends. Family. And he'd gone out into the stars with her, looking to make a difference. Expecting she could achieve the impossible. And she had—with him at her side, every step of the way.

His talons pricked at her skin in a rhythmic kneading. Maybe it was just because she hadn't been touched in so long, but all her senses focused on the pressure of his palm against hers. Their hands slid together slowly, a sweet, fraught friction. She dared a glance upward and found his attention rapt on the contrast between them—silver and pale, rough and silken.

"You've never seen me without gloves before." His statement implied something else, as if more than his hands were naked.

"No." Her breathing came in unsteady bursts.

With a small shift, she explored the texture of his hand thoroughly, running her fingertip along the curve between what would be thumb and forefinger in a human. His skin was softer there as well, and from his reaction, more sensitive. It was the same between his two fingers. He made a noise—a low rumble in his throat—and it kindled in her an inexplicable heat. She wanted to hear that sound again.

"We should go to bed," he said, and for a moment, she thought he was suggesting—but no. He read her look, probably from her reflexive glance to the bed in the other room, and Garrus pulled his hand back. "We're supposed to hit a quarantine zone tomorrow, right? With a plague that kills turians."

"That's the mission." She fought for composure while thinking, _What the hell? _

He folded to his feet with his particular, predatory grace. "Why don't we ever go anywhere nice? See you in the morning, Shepard."


	3. Chapter 3

Three

Garrus leaned against the closed door. Though he'd exhibited equanimity in returning to his quarters, he knew it for a lie. For a brief, astonishing moment, he'd forgotten she was his commander, forgotten she was human. He'd lost track of everything but her touch; he could still feel the questing tease of her fingertips, learning his contours. In turians, such contact counted as foreplay, but she couldn't have known, or intended it so. No more than he could control his instinctive reaction.

And that was _all_ it was.

He didn't even find human females attractive. They lacked a proper fringe; instead they had all that slithery hair, and their bodies seemed impossibly fragile. Yet as he lay down on his bunk, he couldn't help but remember the breathtaking tactile contrast, the feel of her flesh giving beneath his talons. It would be possible—quite easily—to mark a human partner, laying claim in a profound way, and that idea roused his dominant aspect, the feral hunter he kept leashed. Garrus rolled over with a growl of reluctant desire. But it wasn't Shepard he wanted; she just happened to push his buttons. He needed to find a willing turian—an asari would do—and burn off some energy. That would be the quickest way to clear his head.

Still, it was a long time before he slept because he couldn't get Shepard's expression out of his mind. When he'd suggested bed, she'd looked at _hers_, as if she thought he meant to join her there. _Crazy. Out of the question._ Their relationship could never spin that way. Neither of them wanted it. He was just glad to have her back; that was all. For the first time in years, he felt sure of his place in the universe—beside her, holding a rifle. Somewhat comforted by the permanence of that picture, he drifted off.

The next morning, nothing was like he'd expected, and the ship was quiet, ominously so. A few crewmen stared at him as he passed by. Well, they'd get used to his face, sooner or later, even if they hated turians… because he wasn't going anywhere.

Eventually, he found Miranda in her office, scrolling through messages, probably an evil Cerberus to-do list. She glanced up with a supercilious air. "Can I help you?"

"Where's Shepard?"

"She took the shuttle—along with Jacob and Zaeed—to Omega about two hours ago. I believe they intend to try and rescue Dr. Solus." She shrugged. "I thought we ought to go after him first, myself. He's the more valuable commodity."

If Shepard had done that, he might well be dead by now. By her small smile, Miranda knew it, too.

"Lucky for me she's in charge, not you."

She inclined her head. "We'd do a number of things differently, if the Illusive Man had given command to me."

"Maybe that's why he didn't."

Anger didn't begin to cover the emotion sizzling through him. He had stood with Shepard on the surface of a world so hot that the ground boiled, where removing their suits would've meant instant death—and it hadn't been as hot as he felt. Garrus slammed out of Miranda's office and across to the battery, ignoring the cook's attempt at a friendly greeting. He was in no mood to explain what food he could safely eat. If necessary, he'd just use the dispenser.

The ship was top-notch, no doubt, everything shiny and new, and paid for by xenophobic bastards. For long hours, he pretended to examine the new Normandy's guns, while waiting for her return. He struggled with the incredible strength of his reaction, attempted to analyze the reasons behind it, but he couldn't lock it down. He only knew it was _damn-it-all-to-hell-fucking-wrong_ for her to leave him behind.

That was when it hit him. This wasn't fury, at least not entirely. It was a crunchy-anger shell surrounding a hidden core of fear. The last time she'd left him, she died. And he couldn't live through that again. Not without hope. Not again. The galaxy _needed_ her. Conversely, it could go on just fine without a scratch-and-dent-sale turian, and maybe if he stuck close, he could take the kill shot for her. He couldn't do that from the ship. With some effort, he stilled hands he hadn't realized were shaking. _Strange._ He could peer down the scope and end a life with complete aplomb, but not knowing where she was or what was happening to her made him crazy.

_It just hasn't been long enough. That's all. I think humans call this separation anxiety._

By the time the shore party returned, he'd ruthlessly stomped his emotions into a semblance of order, and he really was working on the weaponry when Shepard ambled in. The smell of smoke clung to her in teasing wisps, giving hints of alkali and distant fires. She smelled like sunset on Palaven. The unexpected mental link between Shepard and home gave him pause.

She still wore her armor, that strange white suit with slashes of red paint; it made her look androgynous. This afternoon, she carried her helmet beneath one arm, which meant she'd come straight to him, no stopping to change. Her smile said the mission had been a success, and he stared at the curve of her mouth. So strange: her teeth were dull and flat, like those of a herbivore. But he imagined that the bits of skin that framed them would be soft. Like her fingers. Like her palm. His own hand tingled with remembered contact, the way she'd traced him as if she wanted to memorize his lines. _Stop that._

He let the silence grow. _Not making this easy for her._

And then he said coolly, "Need something, Shepard?"

"Got a minute to talk?" she asked.

For a few seconds, he considered saying snidely, _I'm calibrating the weapons—can it wait? _Instead he turned to face her and nodded. He locked his arms behind him in a military stance, feet braced wide apart.

Typical of her, she cut right through the bullshit. She didn't pretend not to understand his expression. "Are you mad?"

"I was at first."

She propped herself against the console where they'd installed EDI's interface. "You know why I didn't take you?"

"I would surmise it's because you didn't want to put me at risk."

"It seemed best to take a human team." When he didn't speak, she went on, "Mordin thinks the disease was designed by the Collectors."

He canted his head, drawn despite himself. "What could they hope to gain?"

"That's what we have to find out."

"We?" The hard-spoken, dubious word slipped out before he could stop it.

At that, she pushed to her feet and took a step toward him, brow wrinkled in way he knew meant nothing good. "You think I _wanted_ to leave you behind? For God's sake, Garrus, I went into that hellhole with a Cerberus drone, and a merc who doesn't give a fuck whether I live or die as long as he gets paid—while bodies burned all around me, and I got shot at by vorcha, Blue Suns, and hell knows who else. And everywhere I looked, I saw turian corpses. I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you. Of course I wanted you with me, but it wasn't the smart thing, and I try not to be idiot if I can help it. This time, I could."

Her anger sparked his to life like embers in the wind, and he closed the distance, using his height to convey subtle aggression. "I get no say in it, then? You give the orders, and I follow. And here I thought we were a little past that point. Glad you made it clear. Commander."

"Garrus…" Her breath went in a gust that sounded like the winter songs in the basalt highlands of his homeworld, hot breezes pushed through tonal stone. "No. It's _not_ like that. Don't call me that. I want you here because you choose to be. But if you could make one easy decision that would keep me safe, wouldn't you?"

_Shepard, _he thought, _I would _die_ for you._ It was just that simple. And with that, his rage died a natural death. In its stead, he gained a dawning sense of awe that she cared enough to protect him. Over the past two years, he'd forgotten what it felt like, this reciprocal…respect. He'd been the one who was supposed to watch out for his team, and he'd done a dismal job of it. Having suffered the agony of abject failure himself, he didn't want that for her. She'd paid enough, been _hurt_ enough. Even years after the massacre on Akuze, he still sometimes caught the glimmer of it in the downturn of her face or the shadow in her eyes, eyes that were a touch darker blue than his own. _Like the sky over Virmire, _he thought, but that, too, had carried a cost for her.

People were always doing that to her, telling her: _this is a matter of life and death, get it done—_but not giving a fuck how much it added to her burdens. Honestly he didn't see how she hadn't cracked, and he shouldn't be piling on. If he was going to be her right hand, he needed to lighten the load, not be the weight she couldn't take.

"I apologize," he said at last. "I overreacted. I just don't like missing the action."

"So we're good?"

Garrus leaned down, so she wouldn't mistake his sincerity. Her breath fanned the relatively tender skin of his throat, distracting him as it teased without a true touch, skimming to his collar ridge. This time, he reached out: simple gesture, irresistible. He brushed the hair away from her cheek with one talon, tucking it behind her ear as she preferred. To his surprise, its texture didn't repel him. No, it wasn't a fringe, but it roused his…curiosity, making him wonder how it would be to drag all his fingers through it and let it brush his palm where he could feel it properly. The pulse leapt in her throat, drawing his gaze, and he wondered if humans liked teeth. Sharp teeth.

He needed to visit Afterlife. Find a turian. Or an asari. Clearly he'd been playing vigilante too long, if _Shepard_ could get to him, and she wasn't even trying. With some effort, he collected himself, remembered what he'd been about to say. But he didn't fall back. He kept crowding her, and even he didn't wholly understand his reasons for doing so.

"As long as you don't make a habit of leaving me where I can't watch your six."

Shepard never backed down, never gave a centimeter, and she responded with wit where she didn't have height. "Are you kidding? I need your scope to compensate for my shitty aim."

His mandible flared in a reluctant smile. It was true; he was the better marksman, but honestly, her ability with a pistol was better than average. Plus, her biotics and tech skills made up for any perceived deficiency. More than once, she'd blown up a mech that was about to split him up from throat to thigh.

"Then we're good."

"I need to go shower and change. I smell like barbecued vorcha."

She didn't, actually. He liked the way she smelled fresh from a fight, darkly invigorating. As she spun away from him, he wanted to bring her back and put his face to her neck and breathe her in. The scent of ozone lingered on her, as if she carried lightning in her skin. She was leashed violence, wrapped in deceptive softness, and every fiber of him responded to it. Turians were kindled by strength—and hers had to be crossing his circuits, because he'd never known anyone stronger than Shepard. So that—and abstinence. His talons curled at his sides and with some effort, he forced himself to go back to work as the doors closed. He refused to watch her go.

"Afterlife," he said aloud, pulling up the weapons grid. "And soon."


	4. Chapter 4

Four

Shepard doused a pang of lingering guilt as she stepped out of the shower. She hadn't wanted to leave Garrus behind, but she couldn't have exposed him to the plague. What if Solus hadn't been able to devise a cure? She'd calculated the odds and weighed the potential of losing him against the value of having him on the shore team. Not surprisingly, the numbers she crunched all said she couldn't take chances with her only friend. Not now. Not ever.

She dried off, and as she did, she examined the scars that ran down the left side of her body. It wasn't just her face that was ugly. When they woke her up from that induced coma, they'd done so about a month too early, and she still felt the effects of the injuries that had killed her, particularly in her shoulder. Or maybe that was the cybernetics; though she would never complain—she had a second chance, after all—she didn't think they'd grafted properly, and in that one shoulder, she had constant, low-grade pain. But other people had worse. Shit, Joker couldn't run without breaking a bone. She'd often wondered whether he could even have sex safely or if he ran the risk of fracturing his pelvis if his partner got enthusiastic. But that wasn't the kind of thing one could ask a helmsman without him getting the wrong idea.

She got dressed, a frown furrowing her brow. Garrus had been angrier than she'd expected. He wasn't the same as he'd been on their first tour. Then, he'd accepted her judgments without question, but here, in this new scenario, she didn't want a good soldier. Jacob, who was former Alliance, was already ma'am-ing her to death. No, she needed Garrus to be her friend, someone in whom she could confide doubts about working for Cerberus and not worry he was going to run to the fucking Illusive Man—and then she'd need to sleep with one eye open in case Miranda sneaked in during her sleep cycle to install a chip in her brain. Which made Garrus invaluable. _I'll make it up to him, _she thought. _Even though he said we're good, I can't have him nursing a grudge. _

"EDI," she said aloud. "Where's Garrus?"

"Officer Vakarian is attempting to take the shuttle to Omega."

_What the hell—_

"Keep him here until I get down there."

"Acknowledged."

Shepard ran for the elevator and took it down to the second deck. Ignoring salutes, she jogged through CIC and found Garrus arguing with EDI at the airlock. The turian planted his feet, his head tilted with pugnacious resolve.

"It's not some huge thing," he was telling the AI.

"All shore parties require the commander's personal approval," EDI answered.

_Shit._ Had she underestimated his anger? Was he _leaving_? Tremors started in her stomach. That couldn't happen. Couldn't. But if he wanted to bail, she had no right to hold him prisoner. _Don't go. Don't leave me. _But she could never speak those words aloud.

"Where you headed?" she asked with admirable nonchalance, considering the turmoil of her inner landscape.

Garrus spun, his mandible flexing with exasperation. "Did that self-important, over-coded VI call you down here?"

"No." That was true, at least. "Anything you want to tell me?"

He appeared to relax a little; some of the tension left his shoulders. "I—no. I just have something to do on Omega, that's all. It won't take long."

Relief. He wanted to prepare before they really got rolling. Maybe snag some bells and whistles for his weapons.

"I'll go with you," she said. "The engineers want me to buy them some new couplings anyway. We can pick those up and then take care of your errands."

He hesitated. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Now she didn't know what to make of the situation. Never before had he intimated, by word or deed, that he didn't want her company. And the pain surprised her. She'd thought they were solid after the dust-up in the battery. But maybe not. Shepard put her personal feelings aside to address the core issue.

"Look, Garrus, you're not going alone. The mercs think Archangel died in that firefight, but someone might recognize you. And I'm not letting you go in without backup. That's a decision I make, not as your commander, but as your friend. I don't trust Miranda or Jacob, but Zaeed and Mordin should be reasonably loyal. You can take your pick about who you'd rather have, if you don't want me there."

He stared at her for several beats. "It's not like that. I don't need 'backup'. I've managed to secure my own bed partners for quite a while now, and if I get done in by an asari dancer, then I had it coming."

Heat suffused her cheeks. How absurd, blushing at the idea of Garrus getting laid. But it was forward-thinking of him, no doubt. If he fine-tuned all his systems, it should permit him to focus on the mission. Sexual frustration would prove distracting. Shepard realized she knew little about turian sexuality. She imagined Garrus, hotly aroused, and remembered how he'd growled when she touched his hand. Despite her best intentions, it awakened her curiosity. Maybe, during sex, he'd also sound like he did when he took a hit—a low, guttural grunt. But how come the asari could make it work when they were basically shaped like humans? _Lucky blue bitches._ She shook her head to clear it of such inappropriate thoughts.

Shepard tried to mask her inner ambivalence. "Then let's go together. Last time I was down there, Aria told me I needed to find a nice young man and loosen up a little. I'm pretty sure that was asari double-speak for 'you need to get laid'. I'll pick up those couplings and then head to Afterlife." She flashed him a teasing grin. "If you're anything like as smooth as you are handsome, you'll already be out the door."

"That could work," he said at last.

"EDI, we're going ashore."

"Acknowledged, commander. XO Lawson has the deck."

She didn't like hearing that, but Miranda would die before yielding her title as second in command. Not that she was unilaterally opposed to that solution. Shepard didn't much like the other woman; she was too cold, too much inclined to see people as assets to be used or sacrificed. But it probably wouldn't win her any friends in the crew, and she needed to consolidate her power base before she made any moves.

The silence in the shuttle blazed taut and awkward, and she didn't know why. Garrus seemed uncomfortable, shifting position four times in as many minutes. He had on his damaged blue armor again; the suit had a huge hole on the collar, reminding her anew just how close she'd come to losing him. A knot of misery formed in her stomach. But once they disembarked on station—ignoring the usual offers of cheap illegal weapons and contraband chem—she lifted a hand, determined to be cheerful.

"Good hunting." She turned and strode toward the markets.

The first two shops she checked didn't have anything like what the engineers needed, and the elcor gave her the creeps. She'd never met a smarmy one before, but somehow, even with his monotone, he managed to give off that vibe. Down some stairs, she found a small salvage shop, run by a quarian.

They haggled a little, and he wound up telling her about his predicament. Cursing herself for a sucker and a soft touch, she gave him the thousand credits to continue his pilgrimage, but not before she snagged a tasty discount on those couplings. Shepard bought those, and the quarian arranged to have them shipped to the Normandy.

"My last task here," he said. "I can never thank you enough."

She smiled. "I had a friend who was quarian, once."

"What happened?"

"She went back to the flotilla."

"Then you're _still_ friends. She's just not with you right now."

At that Shepard had to nod. "True."

And Tali had seemed to want to come with her, even on Freedom's Progress, but she needed to finish up her mission first. Shepard understood duty. Whether he knew it or not, this young quarian had made her feel less alone—and that was worth more than a thousand credits. She still had friends out there, even if they didn't know she was alive. Yet.

He went, presumably, to pack his things, and she ran back up the stairs. The engineers would be pleased. Shepard navigated past hissing vorcha, staring salarians, a trio of batarians who looked like they wanted trouble, and then left the markets entirely. Even from here, she felt the pounding rhythms of Afterlife. As she approached, it got louder still. She permitted a mocking smile as she strolled past an angry human, arguing with the elcor bouncer. _Unlikely he's ever getting in. I guess being a resurrected Spectre does have some advantages. _She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in bar with no agenda. Nobody to find and question, no mission: the only objective to drink, dance, and raise a little hell.

God, she hoped she'd dallied long enough to let Garrus do his thing. Some part of her curled up and whimpered at the idea of watching him put the moves on an asari. Once, she would've been entertained at the idea of him unbending enough to go home with someone, but now it felt faintly wrong, like the taste of water in a soapy glass. Still, she couldn't fight what was best for her crew—or her friend—and turians, like humans, had hormone-based sex drives, and he needed to blow off some steam. Maybe, so did she.

She quit stalling in the first hallway and strode confidently into the club. The flickering flames lent the place an infernal air. Dancers gyrated wildly; the bar lay straight ahead. Shepard explored a little while, studying people to see if anyone caught her eye. It had been a long-ass time since she'd gone looking for strange, and she honestly had no idea how to go about it. One-night stands weren't her thing, so maybe this was a bad idea.

Eventually, she wound up in front of a batarian bartender. Liquid courage might give her the nerve to go for it, if she could just find somebody to her tastes. Not that she had any idea what that person would look like. Fuck, how long had it been? She couldn't even remember.

"Hit me. Something strong."

His fugly, four-eyed face crinkled in what might've been a smile…or a leer. "Coming right up."

Shepard knocked back the drink and then she hit the floor. Next thing she knew, she was waking up in a sewer with some bearded weirdo looming over her. She scrambled back on hands and knees, but he held up his hands to show he meant her no harm. _Just as well I only brought my cheap pistol with me. Since it's gone._ Damn, she'd been lucky a human with good intentions stumbled on her.

"What's going on?" Her memory had black spots all over it.

"Looks like you broke the first rule of Afterlife. Don't order drinks if you're human."

She pulled herself to her feet, still shaky and guts on fire. "Humans aren't welcome at Afterlife?"

He shook his head. "It's just that one batarian bartender. He's got a stick up his ass about a bunch of batarians that died a while back. Nobody does a thing about it, though. Humans aren't exactly held in high regard around here."

She froze. "So that bartender tried to _poison_ me?"

"_Tried_ is the word." Her rescuer shrugged. "As far as I know, you're the first human to survive it. Me and my friend Jake went there to celebrate our new shipping business. He got real drunk, and an hour later, he was puking blood."

"I think I'll go give that bartender a taste of his own medicine."

Even without a weapon, she could still kick that batarian bastard's ass—and if Aria had a problem with it, then she'd go a round with her too. She wasn't the in the mood to try for a hookup anymore; now she wanted blood.

The human grinned. "He won't be expecting you, that's for sure."

She made her way through the back alleys of Omega, daring anybody to get in her way. When she found the batarian again, he stared at her hard.

"Do I know you? No, all you humans look the same. Have a drink. On the house."

Slamming a fist on the counter, she asked, "What do you think these people will do when they find out you're poisoning your customers?"

A nearby turian in red turned, his gaze on the bartender. "Poisoning what, now?"

"This has nothing to do with you!" the batarian growled.

Yeah, she could so use this. She could execute somebody without ever touching a weapon; it was a nice feeling—warm and fuzzy—like the naked fear on someone's face after she stripped his shields and slammed him with her biotics.

She aimed an appealing glance at the outraged alien next to her, and then addressed her enemy. "Who's next? Turians? You don't like them either, right?"

Silence. And the turian wasn't having it. "Answer the damned question, Forvan."

"You want a piece of me? I'll leave your corpse for the vorcha!" The batarian drew his pistol.

But the turian was faster. He nailed him cleanly and then holstered the gun with a calm competence that reminded her of Garrus. "Not taking any chances."

"Thanks," she said.

"I didn't do it for you. If he gets a taste for it, he won't stop. It was simple self-preservation."

"Still, I appreciate it."

He gave her a second look, then. "Well, I don't mind playing hero. Makes for a nice change." He took her ungloved hand in his and raised it to his mouth. Gave her a nip in lieu of a human kiss. _Cheeky bastard._ "I'm Ogrinn."

"Shepard."

His mandible flared, but he didn't let go of her. And to her surprise, she didn't pull away. "_The_ Shepard?"

"Maybe. Depends on what you've heard."

"Hero of the Citadel, tough as hell. Rumored to be dead." His gaze swept her up and down, his thumb grazing her palm. "But you look mighty good for all that."

She grinned, despite herself. Turians were usually a pretty uptight lot; this one appeared to be downright roguish, but it stood to reason, him being on Omega and all. Other than Garrus, it didn't appeal to those who followed the straight and narrow.

"Thanks."

Releasing her hand, Ogrinn leaned in, propping himself right next to her, and she'd been around enough to recognize signs of interest. Unexpected in a turian, but maybe-- "Look, I've got a ship…and I've got a mate…but I only brought _one_ of them with me to Omega."

_Ouch. Yeah, not gonna happen, pal. _Shepard wondered if that line ever actually worked for him. But maybe other women didn't mind enabling a cheater. She was framing a polite rejection—he'd helped her out, after all—when Garrus shouldered up to the bar on her other side. Tension owned him from head to toe; he almost vibrated with it.

"Scuttle," he growled at the other turian. His mandible flared wide, and he opened his mouth to show his teeth. A hiss came from deep in his throat.

"I didn't know," Ogrinn said, easing off. "Next time put some marks on her. Damn."

Shepard raised a brow. _What did that mean?_

Aloud, she said, "I could've handled him. Are you ready to go?" _Please don't give me details. I don't want to know. I don't want to imagine it. _"My appreciation for this place has dropped into negative numbers."

Garrus set his hand on her shoulder. "Yeah. Let's get the hell out of here."


	5. Chapter 5

Five

_Mating fail._ In Garrus's years since reaching maturity, that had never happened before. He'd found an amenable asari dancer easily enough. She'd been a sweet young thing, bendy in exactly the right ways.

"I've never had a turian before," she'd said, slightly breathless. "And at this point in my life, I'm all about new experiences."

Good news for him. So he'd gone with her to her apartment, intending to seal the deal. But once they got there, he couldn't get Shepard out of his head, damn her. He'd left her unprotected—on Omega of all places. Who knew what trouble she might get into on her own? Worse, she'd probably succeed in picking up some guy—

_So where the hell is she right now? What's she doing? And with whom? _

Those thoughts had totally destroyed his focus on the asari wriggling on his lap and telling him she dug his scars. _What the hell's her name again?_ The next thing he knew, he was pushing the girl away, muttering an excuse, and running for the door. But even if he'd stayed, he couldn't have mustered up a flicker of interest in her nubile blue body. _Fucking embarrassing._

So he'd gone looking for Shepard at Afterlife, half-hoping he'd miss her… because he really didn't want to learn her preferences in that regard. To his utter shock, he'd found a _turian_ chatting her up—and she didn't seem to mind.

Rage filled him; pure instinct kicked in. He'd gone primitive, determined to warn the other male off what belonged to him. Only she didn't—and thank God she knew too little about turian mating rituals to interpret what had happened. He'd challenged the bastard and won without striking a blow, though if the other male had pushed, he'd have fought for her. Right there.

And now, one day later, he had nothing to show for his trip to Omega. With a rumble of frustration, Garrus secured the makeshift combat dummy he'd rigged in the cargo hold. The Normandy was en route to Purgatory to pick up the next member of their motley crew, some insane criminal with unstoppable biotic power. Exactly what the tense situation needed, he figured, to become completely untenable.

As he slammed the padded frame with an open hand, he knew he had to face it. Though humans in general did nothing for him, _Shepard_ did something powerful. At this point, he couldn't say for sure when it had started, though he hadn't been aware of the sexual element until now—or maybe it was truer to say he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. But most likely, this had been percolating in his head for a long damn time. In retrospect, the way he'd lost it after he heard about her death—going to Omega to kill bad guys until they banded together to end him—made a strong statement. It whispered of a death wish, not merely a desire to do good. And maybe, just maybe, that was true. He simply hadn't wanted to live without her.

_Shit_.

Hindsight offered perfect clarity, but it wouldn't bring back the men he'd let down. If he could only be sure he'd done his level best for them, not been careless in his grief. His conscience insisted it was the latter. A leader at the top of his game would've noticed something off about Sidonis. He would've ID'd him as the weakest link and taken steps to eliminate the threat before it endangered his team. But he hadn't seen it coming, and he had to carry that knowledge for the rest of his life. That failure hurt worse than the scars the mercs put on his face.

For almost an hour, he pummeled the target, until he trembled with exhaustion, weak and winded. Of course, that was when Shepard came looking for him. She'd always sought him out, even in the early days. Back then, she seemed interested in his work at C-sec, his past, his emotional state, his thoughts on Saren, and hell knew why, but even his relationship with his father. During that first mission, he'd told her things that he'd never shared with another living soul.

She paused in the doorway. The engineers worked in the other part of the ship. Apart from Zaeed down the hall, they were pretty isolated down in the bowels of the ship. He couldn't read her expression; her face was quiet and still. Plus, she lacked the physiology that made it easy for him. Even so, he found her bare, pale face impossibly dear. He ached, just looking at her, not because she embodied some abstract ideal of beauty, but because she was Shepard. Because she'd once tackled him to knock him out of the way of a geth armature and she'd pulled her shields up for both of them. Because she couldn't sing worth a damn, or hold her liquor. Because. It was simple acceptance of the inexplicable and impossible, but the ache didn't go away.

"Garrus," she said with a half-smile. "You look fairly homicidal."

"Need me for something?"

She raised a brow. "Why do you keep asking that? Am I not allowed to visit just because I want to?"

"The rest of the crew will talk," he muttered.

_Good work. Drive away the only friend you have left in the universe… because you just realized you want more. Well done._

"About what? They all know we're old friends. If they don't like how much time I spend with you, they can kiss my ass." She sat down on a crate and folded her arms. "I gave you some space, but it's clear whatever's eating you is getting worse, not better. Now do you want to tell me, or should I beat it out of you?"

His head came up, a growl of denial that she could best him nearly springing forth, and then he caught her smile. _Oh. Right._ She knew she couldn't take him in an unarmed fight, though if she used her biotics, he was done.

Some of the pain and guilt that had been smothering him lightened a little. Maybe he could tell her, even with these damned uncomfortable…_feelings_. He'd always been able to share this kind of shit with her, even from the first.

"I'll talk, Shepard. No need for the rough stuff."

"What did your merc squad do? It didn't sound like you were available for hire."

Silently, he thanked her for giving him a place to start. "You saw Omega. It was full of thugs kicking the helpless—I formed my team to kick back. We weren't mercenaries. At least, nobody was paying us. We made money by taking down pirates, slavers, or gangs that went too far, but we had a rule. No shake downs. No civilian casualties. Every member of my team had lost someone to Omega's gangs. We weren't out to get rich. We were out to make those bastards think twice about murdering someone in the street."

"Doesn't sound you like you made any friends with the gangs." She watched him with steady interest, hands in her lap.

"As you saw, I got three separate merc bands to work together to take me down. My manager at C-sec would be impressed. It was simple. We'd hit their shipments, disrupt activities. Get under their skin. Make them angry. They'd come charging into our well-prepared kill-zone. Snipers and cross-fire, clean and surgical. They never stood a chance."

That part, the early part, he took pride in. They'd done good work. And he'd regret what came later until the day he died.

Shepard nodded. "So tell me about your squad."

Ah, there came the pain. He didn't want to remember their names and faces, but he did, every single damned one. And he'd sent word to their families too, tragic news. Ten times, he'd done it. The worst had been Nalah Butler. Widow, young mother, and it was _his_ fucking fault.

The words felt like speaking through ground glass, so he tried a second time. "There were twelve of us, including me. Former military operatives, C-sec agents, the usual. Had a salarian explosives expert. Pretty sure he'd spent time in the Special Tasks Group. My tech expert was a batarian, believe it or not. Not the friendliest guy, but he could hack any system ever built."

She sat so still, as if she thought her movement might stop the confessional. "But something went wrong."

"It was my own damn fault. One of my people betrayed me. A turian named Sidonis. He drew me away just before the mercs attacked my squad, and then he disappeared. Everyone but me is dead because of him. And because I didn't see it coming."

There, he'd said it aloud. Admitted it. And he wouldn't blame her if she hated him. Hell knew he hated himself. But he could never tell her the real reason he'd been so blind. _Pain-blind, you might almost call it._

This time she weighed her response, watching him with worried eyes. "What happened exactly?"

He gave the rest in a monotone that would do an elcor proud. Only way. "Sidonis asked for my help on a job. When I got to the meeting point, nobody was there. By the time I got back to our hideout, the mercs had killed all but two of my squad. And they didn't last long."

"Maybe they took Sidonis out first."

Garrus appreciated her looking for a reason that it might not be his fault, trying to find a reality where Sidonis hadn't suckered him, where his idiocy hadn't gotten ten good men killed and left Nalah grieving. Unfortunately…

"No. I put out feelers with some old contacts. He booked transport off Omega right before the attack. He also cleared out his private accounts before he left. He sold me out and ran." Pacing the length of the hold didn't do much to calm his anger.

At this rate, his people were going to get a reputation for being traitorous bastards. First Saren, now Sidonis? Fucking unacceptable. Turians should be better than that. What the hell happened to honor?

"Any idea where he is now?"

Her questions made it easier for him to talk, coaxing the last of it out of him. He didn't know if he could've done this any other way—or with anyone else. But he couldn't stop moving, more restless strides. "His trail vanishes after he leaves Omega. But I'll keep hunting. I lost my whole team except for Sidonis. One day I'll find him… and correct that."

"I'll do anything I can to help you." Shepard pushed to her feet and snagged his arm as he went by.

Momentum spun him to face her, and her grip tightened, probably making sure he didn't try to get away. Hell, he was too tightly wound to do this with her right now. But he didn't move because any conflict might tip him over the edge. In short, he'd never been this fucked up in his whole life. But she didn't yell at him, and she didn't seem to want to fight, either. Instead she stepped into the frame of his arms and leaned her head against him. Unerringly, she found the softer skin at either side of his waist with her bare palms, and a little shiver of reaction curled through him. Turians had different erogenous zones than humans, but she found his without half-trying. Or maybe she _knew_ what she was doing to him—tease.

"Shepard." Her name game out with an extra growl in response to the movement of her soft little fingers.

"This is comfort, Garrus. I'm guessing a bad-ass like you hasn't seen much of it."

"Right." He drawled the word, but he didn't step back.

Because of the scales, turians weren't much for close contact like this, unless it was going somewhere else. But he found he didn't mind having her in his space, and he exhaled a long, slow breath, resting his head on top of hers. Surreptitiously, he slid his unmarked cheek against her hair and then nuzzled it a little with the tender side of his throat. _Ohh._ That felt pretty good. If she'd wanted to distract him, well… it was working. Eventually he completed the embrace, holding her with more desperation that he'd admit. He didn't know how long they stood that way, but it helped, even with riotous, improbable urges clamoring in his blood.

"Better?" she asked.

His answer came out in a rasp. "Definitely."

She stepped back but she didn't let go of him entirely. Still holding one of his hands, she led him over to the crates and sat. Because he gleaned he was meant to, he joined her, looking down at their joined hands. If she started tracing his inner skin again, he didn't know if he could stay civilized.

"I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone," she said softly.

"I'm listening."

"You heard about Akuze?" Shepard didn't wait for his nod of confirmation. He stilled, sensing an important moment approaching, a turning point. "I got all this praise… and for what? For living?" She gave a bitter laugh. "But you know what, Garrus? I failed them all. See, the top-brass and scientists _knew_ about that maw nest. And they sent us in anyway… because they wanted to study the corpses afterward. I got a warning before that mission—an anonymous tip. I disregarded it because I was so fucking idealistic. I thought it was just another bullshit conspiracy theorist trying to get into my head. And you know how many good people died out there because of me? A hell of a lot more than ten."

He sat, stunned. They were more alike than he'd known. Maybe all the way down to the bone. Belatedly he scrambled for a response that wouldn't add to her pain. "You were a soldier. You trusted your leaders. There's nothing wrong with that."

"And you trusted Sidonis. He'd given you no reason not to." Despite the layered anguish in her blue eyes at opening an old wound, he glimpsed satisfaction.

_Check and mate, Shepard. I can't punish myself forever unless I want you down here bleeding with me._

"I get it. But I still mean to kill him. For symmetry, you understand."

"If that's what you want, I'll polish the rifle for you myself."

_Polish the—oh, hell_. Now she had him thinking of that again. Maybe he loved his weapon a little too much. Garrus cleared his throat. "Sounds good."

Too_ good. _Much more of this, and he'd die of frustration.

As if to torment him further, she let go of his hand and cupped his scarred cheek in her soft palm. She traced the marks with her fingertips, gaze on his. Then she drew back. "So. You ready to rock this prison?"


	6. Chapter 6

Six

Purgatory was built on impressive scale. After their initial confrontation with the guards, wherein she wouldn't budge on the issue of surrendering their guns, Shepard led the way toward processing. As they passed, one guard laid the beat-down on a sniveling prisoner while another looked on.

"You don't even get good information that way," Garrus said scornfully. "After a point, they'd admit to anything, just to get the torture to stop."

She glanced at Mordin. "Should I intervene?"

"Up to you. Unlikely to invoke lasting change. Momentary respite only."

They weren't even asking him any questions. It was just a beating, plain and simple. So she ended it.

At the next cell, the cellie begged for a moment of their time. "Hey, if you're buying prisoners, can you buy me? I don't care where you take me, or what you do to me. It's gotta be better than this."

"We're here for Jack," Garrus said.

That made the felon back up, even inside his cell. "Then forget what I just said. I don't want to go nowhere with you.

_Better and better, _Shepard thought. _Even the other cons are scared of Jack. _

She fucking hated taking the Illusive Man's orders; it wasn't like she trusted him to help her choose her team, but here she was, chasing down his leads, following his dossiers like he ought to be above her in the chain of command. And there were no words for how wrong that was.

It had been years since she'd seen sunlight. _Years._ According to Jacob, she'd spent all that time in a hospital bed, or on the operating table, chock full of tubes and wires. Sometimes she had this funny ringing in her ears—tinnitus it was called—but it couldn't be ascribed to any medical cause. She'd asked Chakwas about it, but the woman said she checked out as better than new. _Funny. Better than new. _Shepard sure as hell didn't feel that way. She couldn't remember what her favorite color used to be; and she wondered what Miranda Lawson would make of that. They'd brought back most of her memories—_event_ memories. But most days, she felt like those things had happened to someone else. Another life—and maybe that was accurate. She wasn't the same person. _I'm Shepard, mark two—death is only the beginning._

Garrus was the only person who made her feel anything at all, even an echo of the woman she used to be. Without him acting as a tether, she might well turn into the mechanical ghost who animated this armor. Her ears buzzed louder, and then she realized it was her team, telling her to get a move on. Ruthlessly, she put aside her uncertainties. Above all, Shepard was a good soldier.

"I should go," she said to the nameless prisoner.

"Wish I could go," he muttered.

They passed the hallway lading to the supermax wing. Straight ahead, she found a Purgatory employee, working on a terminal. He said, without looking up, "Outprocessing is just ahead."

Her nerves prickled to life. Everything was quiet. _Too_ quiet. Where were all the other employees? Nevertheless, she approached cautiously; they had come to get Jack, and that was exactly what they'd do.

But as she reached the doors, the intercom crackled: "My apologies, Shepard. You're more valuable as a prisoner than as customer. Drop your weapons and proceed into this open cell. You will not be harmed."

"I should've known the minute I saw him," Garrus growled. "Bare-faced bastard. But _another_ bad turian? I'm gonna get a complex."

She touched his arm lightly as she pulled her pistol with the other hand. "You're good enough to make up the difference."

His mandible moved in the Turian version of a roguish grin. "You have no idea."

An embarrassing wave of heat suffused her_. Now? Really? Stop it, commander,_ she chided herself. _He made it clear he's on the prowl for some asari action. _

Across the room, Mordin dove behind a desk. "Seeking cover. Hostiles inbound."

She took cover as well, and Garrus settled beside her. God, she loved this, and his mandible flared in pleasure as he settled his rifle in the crook of his arm. Guards ran at them in waves, interspersed with Fenris mechs. She and Garrus fell into rhythm; she overloaded the mechs, and he took them in one shot. There was almost something sexual to it, the perfect synchronicity of their bob and weave…in and out of cover in absolute harmony. His shots followed hers like day after night. The explosions sent shrapnel flying everywhere, sometimes taking out a few of the guards as well. She laughed softly, and kept firing. Mordin amused himself burning the armor off the better-equipped grunts, and then they were fair game. As they'd done in the old days, she and Garrus counted headshots.

"Scratch one," he said, as a guard went down.

She timed her next shot, after the guard's thermal clip gave out, and while he was scrambling for the next one. Her reactions hadn't been this fast before; she used to require a little more time to aim. This time, she nailed him with her machine pistol, and his skull splattered.

"Nice shooting," he whispered, after she ducked down next to him again.

Pleasure coiled through her, and they fought on. In the end, he beat her by five, which was about par. She'd always done better aiming for the torso because it was a bigger target, and she didn't have his sniper experience.

At last, there was a break in the fighting, and Shepard vaulted over the desk. "Time to push."

The other two fell in behind her. On the way to the supermax wing, they ran into a couple more guards, plus mechs, but judicious applications of warp and overload left them easy pickings for the men at her flank. One of the guards screamed as his shields went down and a barrage of Mordin's fiery ammo set him alight. His grisly death broke the will of his companions, and they tried to run. She signaled the kill order, and they gunned them down from behind.

"Nobody fucks with me," she said, stepping over the corpses.

"They _do_," Garrus pointed out. "But you'd think they'd know better by now."

Mordin nodded. "Agreed. Foolish loss of life. Probably better for the gene pool."

The guards in the control room also begged; they received clean deaths. Shepard scanned the room for anything of value, and then approached the console.

Garrus came up behind her, and his proximity prickled at her skin as it hadn't before.

"Shepard, if you hack that control, every door on the cell block opens."

"However, required if we want to get Jack out of stasis," Mordin added.

"I'm doing it. Be ready."

The unit ejected and robotic arms unfastened the bolts securing the cryogenic prison. Once the capsule opened, it revealed something that surprised them all: Jack was small, female, and covered in tattoos. The woman began to stir.

Mordin spoke first. "_That's_ Jack?"

Before she could answer, Jack woke…and roared. She tore free of her restraints and launched herself at the three mechs closing on her position. The resultant biotic explosion was…remarkable, to say the least. They hadn't exaggerated her power.

"We have to get down there."

She nodded at Garrus and led the way, weapon at the ready. They mopped up in Jack's wake, killing the guards and prisoners she'd left alive. But damn, the woman cut a wide swath of destruction: impressive as hell, if she could be turned into a team player. If not, they might lose a second Normandy. The warden had said she was the biggest ball of mean and crazy, mixed up with too much biotic power. _Fucking Illusive Man. I'm supposed to command and motivate _her_? _

They slaughtered their way through the Purgatory amid ship-rocking explosions and multiple hull breaches, dropping guards and prisoners right and left. Finally, only the warden remained. From behind his force field, he shouted defiance.

"I could have sold you and lived like a king, Shepard! But you're too much trouble. At least I can still recapture Jack."

_That's what you think. _They slaughtered his guards. Then his shield generators went down fast, and then between fire and warp, his armor peeled away, leaving a begging turian.

"No mercy. You tried to sell me."

"It was just business! The galaxy needs someone who does what I do."

Shepard approached him slowly, jaw set, and shot him, point-blank, in the head. By the time, he hit the ground, she was already sprinting for the exit. The others kept pace, and in the next corridor, they slammed into Jack, who was screaming and flailing. Close up, she seemed to be wearing a shirt made of tattoos an some judicious placement of clamps and straps. Shepard thought it looked like it'd be a bitch to fight in, but it didn't slow Jack down any.

She shot a guard coming up on Jack's six by way of greeting. The other woman glared and kindled a palm full of blue glow. "What the hell do you want?"

"You're in a bad situation, and I'm going to get you out of here."

"Shit. You sound like a pussy. I'm not going anywhere with you. You're Cerberus." But the power dimmed a little, though Jack gave the impression that her whole body seethed with biotic energy.

Shepard shrugged. "I don't take orders from them."

"You show up in a Cerberus frigate to take me away somewhere. Do you think I'm stupid?"

_Kinda, yeah. This station's gonna blow any minute. So by all means, let's have a pissing contest, crazy-face. _But she maintained her stone commander face, not giving any hint of her thoughts. Most times, she didn't have any personal ones. At least, not often, and nothing actionable.

She spoke her mind. "You must be. I have the only ride off here, and you're arguing with me."

An explosion rocked the station, and more klaxons clanged to life. Flashing red lights illuminated the metal corridor. Garrus put his hand on his rifle. "Just shoot her and patch her up on the ship."

Shepard stayed him; that wasn't the way to begin. "We're not going to attack her."

Incredulity flickered on Jack's face, but she covered it with bravado. "Good move. Look, you want me to come with you, make it worth my while."

Bribery might work. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I bet your ship has lots of Cerberus databases. I want to look at those file. See what Cerberus has on me. You want me on your team? That's the price."

Another explosion. This wasn't the time to haggle, however pissed off XO Lawson might be. In fact, that might be the best reason to do it. "I'll give you full access."

"You better be straight up with me." Jack paused. "So why the hell are we still standing here?"

"Move out."

***

Back on the Normandy, Shepard retreated to her quarters. A headache pounded at her temples, an intensification of the ear-noise, but she was sure the argument with Miranda over those fucking classified files had something to do with it. The new ship kicked ass, but it was full of strangers.

She sat down on her couch, looking at the digital photos stored in her frame. Most of the faces, she could put a name to, but they didn't evoke any particular emotion. _Unlike Garrus Vakarian. _Thinking of him often summoned the most awful, unassuaged ache. Once, her parents had taken a job out toward the Perseus Veil, and they'd cruised through a galaxy full of O-stars, so the universe outside the view screen glowed crimson and citrine with hot blue stars pulsing in the distance. She had never seen anything so wondrous, but they'd cautioned her about the heat and the radiation, and said, repeatedly, life cannot be sustained here. It had hurt a little, even as when she was child, to realize something so lovely could hurt you. _Mortal beauty. _Garrus was like that, all silvered skin, gleaming fringe and razor-sharp talons. Another marvel she could admire, but never touch.

The chime at her door indicated she had a visitor. If it was XO Lawson, come for round two, she'd have the AI secure the door. "Who is it, EDI?"

"Officer Vakarian to see you, commander."

_Hm. _He'd never sought her out when she was in her room before. But she'd never turn him away, no matter how much hopeless yearning she suffered as a result. Shepard rose and went to let him in.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

Garrus perched on the couch in Shepard's quarters. Only she could make him gamble so on his uncertain ability to read human expressions. But she'd seemed upset when she strode out the comm room, not that XO Lawson ever left anyone cheerful. The woman had a shredder where her personality ought to be.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

And it broke something in him, that despite the purple shadows beneath her eyes that he knew indicated she wasn't sleeping well, she'd still ask after _his_ mental health. He didn't think she remembered how to do anything except solve other people's problems and look to the mission. He wanted…he didn't know exactly what, but he wished she could lean on him in the way of turian bond-mates. Fruitless and futile, that wish. He might as well cast diamonds into the volcano at Ithiss, a ruin on Palaven.

"I'm fine," he answered. "But you're not."

To his surprise, she didn't deny it. In the half-light, her face was pale and soft, faintly shadowed so that he could only see the sparkle of her eyes, but not the color. Her hair fell in a dark swath against her cheek, moon and night. The poetry of that contrast compelled him, forcing him to see beauty where he'd once seen only a naked face dominated by a hump with holes, defenseless and ugly.

"Is it so obvious?"

"I don't think the crew's noticed. But you can't fool me. I know you too well."

That was true. He didn't think she'd let anyone so close since her lover died on Akuze. She had told him about it over drinks one night on the first Normandy, and he'd shared one of his darker stories, too, about a lover killed in combat. It had been, in fact, a recon scout with whom he'd tested reach and flexibility. He'd left the military after that, left the stars behind for a cushy posting on the Citadel that dulled his spirit and thrilled his father. Even there, he couldn't quell his urge to keep fighting, however. Not entirely. Not forever. She'd liberated him from a life that was bleeding him dry. Garrus knew that if he'd stayed, he would've wound up a bloodless husk who couldn't summon an iota of passion if someone sliced off his fringe. He owed her big for that, comfort if nothing else. No matter what else he wanted.

"I'm going through the motions," she said at length. "Saying the right words. Making the moves that will get this mission on track, but I don't feel it. I should be _outraged_ about these colonists. And I am, I guess, but… it's distant, like something I saw on a news vid once, a long time ago. I remember giving a speech on the first Normandy. Telling you all that the fate of the universe rested squarely in our hands—that people were counting on us, and that we _must not fail._" She mocked herself gently, her mouth twisting in a wry moue. "I don't have that kind of fire to give this time, maybe because I already died once, and I shouldn't be asked to make that sacrifice twice. And yet here we are."

Her words struck him like a barrage of rifle shots, burning through his emotional shields. Garrus felt her confusion and alienation as if they radiated from his own body. That was how deep she'd burrowed inside him. The emotion resonated, kindling an ache as though she tapped a thousand crystals, all singing the same mournful time. Distance showed in the slope of her cheek, the delicate shadow of her lashes. Such fine details to notice, and he treasured them, because later, in his bunk, he would recreate her face from memory, adding in such small wonders.

_What do you say to a woman who has already given everything? And then is asked to give it once again, this time, more and better and faster? _He ached with the impossibility of it, and for all that she had lost.

"It's not fair," he said, with more gravel in his voice than he would've liked. The growl became more pronounced when he wrestled with strong emotion. "But then, nobody ever claimed the universe is."

She lifted her face to meet his gaze, and her unique, human loveliness took his breath away. Funny how he'd never seen it until recently. Other humans remained the same to his eyes: soft, naked, wretched. But Shepard… Shepard now looked better to him than the fiercest, deadliest turian female. _Subjective thing, aesthetic sensibility, _he thought,_ and so readily influenced by strong emotion. _

"True enough. And I'll do what I must. Having you here helps more than you know." Shepard paused, her hands restless like two hopping birds in her lap. "I…couldn't talk like this with anyone else."

"I'd want to kill him if you did." The words slipped out before he'd even formed them.

_Terrible impulse control. _Garrus tensed, waiting for the adverse reaction, but she didn't appear to register the comment. She was too deep in the morass of self-examination. And so he listened with the same stillness and complete attention she'd given him down in the cargo hold. He could offer no less when he wanted to offer so much more. He would stand witness to her pain, and admire her all the more for showing it to nobody else.

"I was divorced from myself as a woman, even before I…died." She hesitated over the last word like it hurt her.

_Fucking awful truth._ Even now, he almost couldn't believe those dark, terrible years had ended. That she'd come back. People didn't, and yet Shepard had made a career out of the impossible. But even if it were some insane delusion or a merciful afterlife, he wouldn't question it. Not when he'd sampled a taste of the bitter reality without her. He couldn't go back to that. Better to prowl the perimeter of her life than to be alone.

"You mean you didn't have much of a personal life," he prompted.

"None, really. Not since Rai died. After that…" She shrugged. "I wasn't inclined to meddle with soldiers under me in the chain of command."

"Which is why you turned down Lieutenant Alenko." He'd always wondered.

"It was part of it. Not the whole reason."

Garrus tried to decide if he should pursue this and decided not. He didn't need to hear that she preferred blond humans to dark-haired ones. It would only hurt to hear that turians didn't register anywhere on her list of desirable bed partners. He didn't want to play the neutered, asexual male.

"It was a wise choice. Otherwise, it would've been tough to make that call on Virmire."

"I still have trouble with it," she admitted. "But when he went ahead and armed that nuke, he sealed his fate. I had Ashley and all those salarian STG soldiers in the tower versus Alenko on the ground. I saved everyone I could."

"I'm not arguing, Shepard. I would've made the same decision."

"And that's why after Rai, I promised myself I'd never get involved with someone under my command again. It clouds the issue. Raises uncomfortable questions, and eventually, you get to the point where you'd sacrifice anything and anyone to save that one person. It can't work."

Did she _know_? He had been trying to keep these fucking feelings under wraps, but Shepard was sharp. Maybe she'd caught the hints; a turian female would certainly have caught on by now, being pursuant with the rituals and behaviors. So maybe she was warning him off in her oblique style, trying to save them both embarrassment. Well, he could take a hint. There would be no awful, awkward declarations.

"The turian military would applaud your resolve. They frown on fraternization between superior and subordinate."

_But we're not a military ship. And I'm not here because you ordered it or because you're paying me. I'm here because I'd die if I had to leave you. _

"Yet," she went on, as if he hadn't spoken. "I have…needs. I suspect I must get back in touch with the woman I used to be in order to return to life all the way. I can't be all soldier, all the time. It's not healthy."

"It's not," he agreed.

Inwardly, he seethed at the turn the conversation had taken. He wanted to be Shepard's confidant—the one person she trusted—but it made him uneasy to hear about her needs when _he_ wanted to assuage them. Uncomfortable arousal spiraled through him. _Dammit, I knew that human porn was a mistake. _Because now he could more clearly picture what shape her needs might take.

"But when we were on Omega, I couldn't even remember how to approach a man. I went down there looking to be social and wound up poisoned by a batarian. Because I'm such a social fuck-up, I ended up unconscious and defenseless in a back alley. If a good-natured human hadn't found me, I'd be dead again, and Cerberus would be royally pissed at their loss of investment right about now."

The rage that roared through him had no peer. He'd never known _anything_ like it. For long moments, he had no words, only the color red shining in his brain. _She could've died while I was with that fucking asari. _And he hadn't even gotten any pleasure out of it because she _haunted_ him: the feel of her fingers against his palm, his talons in her hair, her hands on his waist, the tender glide of Shepard tracing his scars. _Gods and spirits, when did she imprint on me like this?_ He couldn't imagine how much more intense it would be if she ever touched him as a lover.

"Garrus?" Worry tinged her voice.

"You should've told me. I'd have killed him."

"That other turian did it for me, actually."

_Not. Helping. _Now he wanted to go back and shoot the fucker in the head for taking his place with Shepard, even temporarily. Measured breaths helped a little, but he couldn't muster coherent thought. "I see," he growled. It was all he could manage.

"I envy you. It's so much easier for males. You don't think about connections. You want something and you make it happen. Like your need for a random asari." Her chin dropped a little, and her voice gained a forlorn note.

Only the hint that she minded could've penetrated this particular fury. The anger receded. If she didn't want him, why did she care who he slept with? Then he went over her words and remembered his own mental protest. _This isn't a military ship. I'm not under her command. Had that been a hint, just not the way I originally took it? _Fuck, he hated this mating game, because he didn't know the rules. Someone should write a manual, but unfortunately, there hadn't been a lot of interspecies action between humans and turians. It hadn't been that long since the First Contact war, relatively speaking. Most turians would probably think he was quite a deviant, in fact.

"I didn't," he said softly, watching for her reaction.

Her hands quieted in her lap. "Didn't what?"

"Make it happen."

"But you were gone when I got to Afterlife." Puzzlement now, if he could rely on his knowledge of her face—and he knew it like his own.

So dear, Shepard had become to him, the harmony that completed his own song. She found her temples with her fingertips as if her head hurt, and he itched to run his talons against her skull, stimulating blood flow and easing pain. The tenderness surprised him a little, for it only came when a turian made the final bond, a _lasting_ mate bond beyond the wildness of his youth. For him, she was as inevitable as the tolling of the bell at sunset, a homecoming and a sweetness he could no longer deny.

He sat forward, wanting to reach for her. Not quite daring. "I realized it was a mistake. She was nobody to me, not worth my time."

"So you _do_ think about connections. It's not automatically easier for males."

"It was when I was younger," he admitted. "Now, I want more. It might be age, brain finally overpowering hormones. But I just didn't want her."

Shepard smiled, and his breath caught. Not for the first time, he wondered about the softness of her lips. They served a purpose and let her articulate words, but from the vids, he knew humans used them for kissing. Turians didn't have such a thing, though they did nip in tender areas. Would she like it if he used his teeth on them? Desire became a fire in his blood, madness in his head.

"What _do_ you want, Garrus?" An invitation, perhaps. The curve of her mouth emboldened him.

_Moment of truth._ He could hedge. But in truth, it would be unworthy of them. They were both warriors who fought for what they wanted. No good telling himself it was impossible, if he never even tried.

"You," he said. "I want _you_."


	8. Chapter 8

Eight

Shepard froze, sure she couldn't have heard him right. But Garrus met her gaze steadily, and he didn't recant. So yeah, he'd really said it. Her mind raced, examining all possible meanings. God, she had to make sure he meant what she thought he did. Erroneous assumptions would prove awkward and humiliating.

"To clarify," she said, voice gone husky, "you're expressing… personal interest? I didn't know you were into humans, Garrus."

He sat forward. "I'm not. But this isn't about that. It's about _us_. You can't deny we've formed a bond over the years."

She almost couldn't believe it. Maybe this was some coma dream, and when she woke up at last, none of this would be real. Shepard had only just admitted her private desire to herself; she never would've expected—or even hoped for—reciprocation. Thanks to years of Alliance service and now the entanglement with Cerberus, she was a bad bet for any man, let alone one like Garrus, who carried his own scars. But perhaps they were damaged in complementary ways. Maybe, just maybe, together, they could form a whole. Then again, she might be over-thinking; he might just want a fuck buddy, a diversion to liven up the long hours between missions.

"I don't deny it," she said softly. "You're the only person I trust fully in the whole damn universe."

"And you're the only friend I have left. I… respect you more than anyone alive."

"Is that what's driving this? Trust and respect?" She didn't mean to sound disappointed, but damn, those were lukewarm reasons to start an affair, particularly one so fraught with risks. Staring at the aquarium, she watched the fish swim in circles. Listened to the bubbles from the filter. Small sounds to blot out her pain.

He might never guess it, but beneath the uniform, she craved more romance, less appeals to logic. Though she wanted him desperately, if he didn't need her in the same fashion, then there was no way she'd go down this road with him. Relationships with an imbalance of desire never ended well. Pride wouldn't let her be the only one with clinging hands and a needy heart.

"It served as the foundation." He paused, studying his hands as if seeking guidance. And then he appeared to come to a decision. "But ever since you saved me, Shepard, you're in my head all the time. I think about the way you smell, fresh from a fight, the curve of your cheek, the way you touch me. And you make me burn. I fought it at first—tried to deny it—but I'm not a coward. I'm not afraid to ask, even if you don't want a damn ugly turian in your bed."

Pleasure rolled through her. There it was, the passion she'd wanted from him. It shone in his blue eyes and his tense posture. Though he was unstoppable with a sniper rifle, he feared her rejection right now. It was the bravest and loveliest thing she'd ever seen, and in that moment, she remembered the woman she used to be.

"You're not ugly, Garrus. Nobody looks better to me, in fact."

A long exhalation escaped him, and some of his tension eased. "Does that mean—"

"Yeah. I've been having the most… interesting dreams about us."

His fingers curled into his palms. "You had to tell me that, didn't you?"

"Would you rather I left you guessing?" She leveled a square gaze on him. If he wanted to play games, well, that wasn't happening. Hell if she even remembered how to play. He'd have to take her as she was or not at all.

"Not even a little bit. So, Shepard, where do we go from here?"

She slid down the sofa, so she was sitting within arm's reach, and let her knee nudge up against his. "Well, I guess we should talk. First, about intentions… is this a casual thing, Garrus? Are you just looking to blow off some steam with me?"

If it was, then she could deal. She wanted him enough to go for it regardless. But she had to learn his intensity going in, so she didn't freak him out with unwanted emotional weight and expectation.

"I want you," he growled. "And I don't want anyone else to have you. You're like my heartbeat. Beyond that, I have no answers for you, Shepard."

Sheer yearning blazed through her. "So not just a one-time thing, then."

"Hell no. On Omega, I kept thinking about you picking up some bastard, and I wanted to kill him. Nobody else should be touching you." He hesitated, and then put his hand on her thigh, talons digging gently into her muscle, as if questioning his _own_ right.

Good pain—delicious, in fact. It didn't get any better. Subtly, she splayed her legs in answer. _Yes. Yours, Garrus. Touch. Take. _

"It hurt me thinking about you with that asari. I wished it could be me."

"It will be."

"Then let's talk about sex, briefly. I've done a little reading, but it's not as specific as I'd like, since there isn't much information about turian-human relations, and I prefer to be prepared."

"Reading?" His voice dropped, roughened. "You mean you've been researching what it would be like with me?"

"Yeah," she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat.

"I _love_ that." He reached for her then, anchoring her to his side. "Is that all right? I don't want to hurt you."

"I have cybernetics and an implanted skin weave. I'm tougher than I look."

It felt unbelievably good to be so close to him without needing an excuse. No pretext of comfort, not offering support. His scales felt unyielding against her side, but because it was Garrus, proximity offered its own joy. She shifted so she could lean into him and still see his dear, familiar face. His good side was turned toward her, but the scars made him no less appealing. In a way, they attested to his strength.

"Point. What would you like to know?"

"Well, I know that sex between turians is typically pretty rough."

He nodded, threading her hair through his fingers. _Drag, drag, drag._ The strands caressed his palm, and each motion felt oddly soothing. His mandible flexed with abject pleasure. She ached to feel his talons drawn down her bare skin. Beneath the uniform, her nipples pebbled.

"It can get combative, particularly when both participants are young and hormonal. Establishing dominance plays a role."

"Is that going to be an issue with us?"

He snapped his teeth at her teasingly. "Do you want it to be? I'm past needing to assert my masculinity that way, but I'm willing to play at it, if it'd make you happy."

"Let's establish the basics, then move on to advanced stuff later." She grinned at him.

Shepard took his free hand; she loved the contrast between the softer skin on the inner curve of his fingers and the scale on the back of his hand. A tremor went through him as she drew patterns on his palm, etching with her blunt nails. Garrus growled a little, deep in this throat, while his fingers flexed.

"Keep that up, and you'll get a demonstration instead."

"Is this erogenous for you?" But she didn't stop.

"Highly. So's my waist, for future reference, along with the side of my throat, the spot just beneath my fringe, and the skin behind my spurs."

"Noted," she breathed.

_Dear God, I've touched him on the waist and the palm, for sure. _She couldn't remember about the neck. _Did he think I was teasing him? _A warm flush suffused her cheeks, but it stemmed from sexual enticement more than embarrassment. She liked the idea of turning him on, even if she hadn't known what she was doing at the time.

His blue eyes snapped sparks. "Did you do it on purpose? Stroke my waist after you did that reading?"

"No. But last night I couldn't stop wondering what it would be like if you came to me instead of some random asari, whether I could give you what you need."

Another growl escaped him. "You made me crazy, Shepard. Turians only get that close to fight… or fuck."

No. She couldn't go one minute longer as Shepard. Not with him. Shepard _died_. She was imperfect and broken and full of machinery. She couldn't be that thing with him.

"If we're going to do this, I need you to call me Gwen."

"Nobody else calls you that. Just me." His words held roughness, and a need to claim.

She affirmed it with a lift of her chin. "I don't think anyone else even knows my given name."

"Good. See that it stays that way." Though he'd claimed to be beyond any need for dominance, she registered the possessive rumble in his tone. It thrilled her.

Gwen leaned closer, nuzzling her face against his throat. He smelled… other with a bittersweet tang that inflamed her senses, like apple cider and smoky sunlight. She wondered how he would taste.

"So tell me the rest. I read there are stages in the physiology of turian arousal."

"I'd much rather show you."

"Consider it foreplay," she whispered, caressing his palm. "Because hearing you talk about it works for me in a big way."

He shuddered. "In that case… turians aren't like human males with everything on display all the time. That is, frankly, safer, less of a vulnerability. But when we want to mate, extrusion occurs. The next stage would be… tension. I think humans start there. Once sufficient tension is achieved, penetration is possible, but we're built differently than your men."

"Longer and slimmer," she said dreamily. "I saw a diagram."

"Dirty." Garrus nipped the side of her throat, and the delicious blend of pleasure/pain sent chills down her spine. "Then you already know the chief variance."

"The… tip." Words failed her as he ran his teeth along her neck. "You have… tendrils? That seek secondary penetration. This roots you together, and when a male orgasms, it's called flowering."

"That's why there can be some pain for humans. Turian females have internal slits to permit the full joining. The asari are more… adaptable than most."

"We're _not_ talking about the asari."

He nodded with a soft chuckle; she felt it more than saw it. "And those are the four stages: extrusion, tension, penetration, flowering."

"Multiple flowering is possible if the male is sufficiently aroused or attempting to impregnate his bond-mate." The idea sent waves of heat through her. What would it take to drive him that wild? Some women were multi-orgasmic, but even they weren't commonplace among humans. She wanted to do that to Garrus, overwhelm him with lust.

"You really _have_ done your research."

"I have a curious mind."

She lifted his palm and pressed a kiss to his skin. Her tongue explored the texture of his skin, and oh—he tasted divine—hint of salt, traces of sweet. Doubtless it could be explained away by differences in amino acids, but his body might prove addictive.

"So, Gwen… are we done talking? Because I don't know how much longer I can sit still, especially when you do that. I had no idea the tongue was so—" The words melted into a wordless moan.

"Agile?" she offered.

"Yeah. That."

"Well, I feel sufficiently enlightened. Do you have any questions you want to ask?" God, she hoped not. She pressed her knees together and tried not to squirm.

His mandible flexed with amusement. "I've been watching vids. I think I can work it out as I go, and if not, you just need to tell me what to do."

Gwen pushed to her feet and went over to the console, first to secure the door, and then to turn off surveillance in her cabin. EDI did _not_ need to record this. Insecurity tugged at her. She wasn't as young as she'd once been. Her body wasn't perfect, but he wasn't even attracted to humans. He wanted this despite her human form, not because of it, and that made it possible for her to tug the shirt over her head.

Garrus sat and watched with an avid look that owed nothing to her physical attractions and everything to the connection between them. He hadn't exaggerated that. Part of her wondered if this was crazy, if she'd let loneliness get the best of her, but she drowned those doubts beneath the desire drumming in her head. By the time she finished getting naked, he'd removed his clothes as well.

For a long moment, she just admired the razor-sharp beauty of him. Naked, he looked dangerous, every bit as much as he did full armored and carrying a rifle. Nature had given him fierce claws and scales, but he had softness too, hidden where a casual touch couldn't find it: such skin meant only for lovers. For _her_. And since she'd found it before she knew that secret about turians, it had to mean something. And he wanted her. No mistaking that.

That part of him was beautiful, too—silver paler than the rest of him. The skin looked delicate, so it would take profound trust to allow a turian lover to come near it with her savage talons. And the tip resembled the graceful sea anemone, flexing tendrils crowning the stalk. Gwen imagined taking that inside her and shivered, but that reaction held only anticipation and excitement. She also noticed that he glistened.

"We're self-lubricating," he explained. "To ensure a smooth entry for our partners."

"Thoughtful of you. Tension achieved," she added, smiling.

"I've been like this for days."

"Poor Garrus." She stepped closer, enough to let him brush the soft skin of her belly.

His whole body jerked. "Never felt anything like that."

"Good?"

"Need a stronger word."

She relaxed, the residual worry melting away. Maybe it wouldn't be like it was with other turians, but it would be wonderful. No reason to fear. She could give him pleasure. Confidence soaring, she reached down and curled her fingers around him. At first he recoiled, and from his reaction, she gathered turians didn't favor manual stimulation. It made sense, given how easily an injury could occur.

"Trust me. I won't hurt you."

"Gwen." Delight sparked through her at hearing him say her name. She was a woman with him, not a soldier. "You can do anything to me. I've been waiting for this forever."

She caressed him, brushing with the tips, and working her thumb in sweet little circles. He groaned and hissed, teeth snapping. His whole body bowed, legs braced as if to keep him from toppling backward. The tendrils flexed, and she watched them dance, delighted at the strength of his reaction.

"Is this customary foreplay?" he asked from between clenched teeth.

"Do you like it?"

"It makes me want to have intercourse with your hand."

"Which, of course, you can't."

"So it's another tease," he growled. "Let me lie down before I fall down."

She let go long enough for him to reach her bed, and then she crawled toward him, happy and whole for the first time since she'd woken up in that fucking Cerberus facility. Heat swept her body in waves, leaving her feeling sensitive and prickling with pleasure. Soon, he would touch her, all over. Her body grew damp.

"I have this idea."

He propped himself on one arm. "Should I be worried?"

"Of course not. Here's the plan: I'll do all the things to you that I've dreamed about. Then it's your turn. After that, we'll fuck until we pass out."

At that, Garrus fell back, indicating with a sweep of one taloned hand that he was all hers. "I like the way you think."


	9. Chapter 9

Nine

Passivity went against his instincts, but Garrus refused to dull the glow in her eyes. Not to mention he craved proof of what she'd been reading. But heat simmered in his head, making it difficult to lie still.

Her body seemed strange, so soft, so seemingly defenseless, but the play of muscle beneath her skin hinted at strength—and that he liked, very much. In his mind's eye, he saw her level a pistol on Purgatory's warden and shoot him in the head. She was fire and vengeance, tempered with mercy. Blood. Sex. The two swelled around her until the two urges melded; she was carnal death, kneeling over him. He _ached_.

She smelled luscious as she leaned down—whisper of sweetness, like the scent of a morning pastry carried on the breeze across the marketplace. Her mouth brushed the side of his throat. Silken heat. Hint of moisture. Now he knew why humans liked lips. They were… glorious.

He turned his head with a little growl, allowing her better access. Then she gripped with her teeth. The mock-threat should've been laughable; there was no way she could hurt him. But pleasure rolled through him regardless, particularly when her tongue traced where she'd bitten. More softness and heat. Desire careened in his veins, spiraling along nerve endings that could scarce contain its breadth. Garrus had ached for her forever, but she would draw it out further. She found the sensitive spot on his waist, the small gap between scales, and raked her fingers downward, even as she nuzzled his throat.

"This time," she whispered, "I'm doing it on purpose."

He shifted, already wishing he could push her down and seize control. Never had he permitted a female to take charge of him like this. Yet there was a delicious, addictive quality to her softness—the way her hair fell across his throat as she ran her lips around to the other side. He breathed her in, delighting in her closeness. Gwen bit her lip with her curious, blunt teeth, and phantom pleasure stole through him; he registered the bite as if to his own body. But that couldn't be right. It was too soon, and they hadn't exchanged vows or performed the—

"_Ahh_." He arched as she found the skin above his spurs, proving she had been paying attention. It was all he could do not to overpower her right then. Yet this was not a game of dominance, but something else, frightening and new. Garrus trembled with the need to reach for her; closing his eyes helped a little.

"So you do like that. Good to know."

The bed shifted and he heard her moving away. His whole body thrummed with unspent sexual tension; Garrus couldn't remember ever dragging an encounter out like this before. He didn't look for her because seeing her naked could only elevate his need to touch and take, claim and dominate.

"Please tell me you're not stopping."

"I'm not." Water ran in the bathroom, and then she returned.

He jolted half-upright as a warm cloth went to work on him. It felt strange and wrong and wholly decadent as she slid it up and down, taking special care not to over-stimulate the tendrils. She really had been doing her research.

"What are you doing?"

"Rinsing off the lubricant."

"Why? It facilitates penetration."

In answer, she took his hand and—careful with his talons—brushed the pad of his fingertip between her thighs. "I think we're good."

_Heat. Delicacy. Soooo sweetly slick and readily accessible._ Garrus had no idea how human males ever accomplished _anything_ when they could have _this_, right out in the open. No fighting for access through the plates, just part her limbs and go. He drew his finger up and down her cleft, learning her layout by touch. Ah, beyond the softness, he found the impossibly small entrance. _Here, then. _She moaned and rubbed against him, driving him wild with her reaction. He wanted to tease her back. Steal her breath and make her crazy. His heart lurched as she drew his hand away as if she could read his mind. He was so ready to explore her soft body and find out what she liked. But she was set on pleasing him first, and he couldn't argue with the results. He'd never trembled with lust before.

"But wouldn't yours and mine be better?" he asked on a low growl.

The idea of their mingling fluids set fire to his blood. It might not be wise, but it filled his head with atavistic need. Hell, he wanted to mark her like that fucking turian on Omega had suggested. Two claw marks on her neck, encouraged to scar. It would be so easy with Gwen, far less trouble than a turian bond-mate. But he was getting ahead of himself.

Her next words drove all other thoughts from his head. "I might get sick if I swallow."

"That means you intend to—"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

_Hell._ If a turian female got near him down there with her sharp teeth, he'd scramble away. She wouldn't have sexual intentions; that was for sure. So it took all the trust he could muster to let her finish wiping him down. Then she lowered her head. Her silken hair brushed him and his whole body jerked. A snarl escaped him. Pleasure approached pain—hot throbs running up his stem, making the tendrils flex. He needed to take her. Soon.

The first brush of her lips made him roar and draw his knees up. It was… indescribable. Her tongue followed. She teased up and down, using both in a sweet, maddening pattern. Wisely, she avoided the pulsing tip because Garrus couldn't stop the slow release of fluid intended to smooth his way between the scales of a turian partner. His body craved completion desperately. He pushed up, twisting and growling. This teasing would kill him, and he moaned a protest.

She lifted her head, and he saw her lips were swollen, so red and shiny that he wanted to bite them. Garrus pushed up to meet her, nipping with feral need. She welcomed it, opening her mouth to let him use his teeth on her tender flesh. Oh._ Ohhh. _She had her hand on him again, squeezing, stroking.

"Can I take my turn later?" he gasped. "Are you ready now? It… hurts."

In answer, she swung a smooth leg across his body and came up on her knees. Her muscles flexed, tightening her stomach as she curled her hand around him again. Even that proved almost more than he could take, but he couldn't flower without being inside her. External contact offered extraordinary sensation—like nothing he'd ever known—but it didn't permit flowering, and he needed her _so_ badly.

"Hold my hips," she whispered.

Garrus did, his talons digging in gently, and then she pushed his pulsing tip deep, letting her weight do the rest. His breath went in a strangled gasp. _So... hot. Smooth. _Even more than her silky-slick skin had led him to believe. She was smaller than a turian female, but more elastic. Her body tightened and yielded, irresistibly seductive.

"How do I feel?" he asked, watching her face.

"Alive. So incredibly alive." She moved on him, gradually gaining confidence.

At first he worried about the skin of her thighs, sliding against his scale, but she didn't appear to mind as she rose and fell, undulating on him in tight circles. Her body clung, lubricated as she'd promised, and with each movement, she grew damper still—all heat and demand. He learned to push up to meet her on each downward stroke. The sensation maddened him, but the position let him watch her building to a wild crescendo.

Garrus drew his claws down her tender skin, leaving a pink trail on her torso. He knew breasts were sexual, and so he touched them. She showed him how much pressure: where to cup and hold, where to press. Her groans grew guttural. Gwen breathed faster, exhaling in lovely gulps through her open mouth. And then she drew his fingers down and pressed it to a certain spot. Despite his madness and need, he took careful note. Her whole body tensed; she sobbed out his name, her smooth skin shiny with sweat. The tremors made her tighten, better than fingers, better than her lips. Unspeakably splendid.

In response, he pulled her down hard, and then they sealed. Ancient impulses took over as his tendrils sank into her soft flesh. She jerked at the pain, eyes wide.

"Is it too much?" Garrus didn't know whether he could stop, even if it was.

As he gazed up at her, the awareness exploded through him, wonder and amazement mingling with the furious delight. _This is Gwen. This woman saved me, not once but twice. I am hers. And she is mine. We. Are. One._

His mandible moved in an ancient turian prayer, shaping the words soundlessly. _Breath of my breath, bone of my bone. Blessed be this female, blessed be her mate. Take all of me, my heart's blood, as I take all of you. Water to wind, sun to sky, until our ashes mingle in the earth. Forever and ever, so shall it be. _

And in that moment, in her gasps and moans, he heard the _socorra_ rushing over the open plains, hot and fierce, bringing red dust. Gwen was the wild beauty of the night sky on Palaven—darkness, split with radiance; she was majestic, even as he pierced her. Huntress, hunter. Mated pair. _Oh, Gwen. My one. My home. I shall ever follow where you lead, even into death._

Her throat worked. "No. Just a… pinch. I want you, Garrus."

Eyes on hers, he fell with singular intensity. Again and again, he spent and throbbed, taking possession of her in the truest, fiercest way. Each time he thought he was done, each time the tendrils relaxed, another wave hit him, and he flowered anew. _Ah. Ahhhh._ His body dug into hers again and again. Gwen moaned, but he was too far gone to know if it was pain or pleasure. His talons dug into her back.

"I can't stop it," he rasped. "Have to, want to—"

"As much as you need. Anything. Everything."

The waves went on for ages, but at last, he went still, pleasure ebbing in slow tingles. Carefully, she eased off him and his arms shook when he pulled her against his side. Insane. Incredible. She'd driven him to try and impregnate her; his hormones didn't acknowledge that was impossible.

"How badly did I hurt you?"

"I heal fast."

Garrus noted she'd skirted the question. He checked the inner curve of her legs for blood and found none. So it couldn't be too bad. Maybe Cerberus had given her adaptive physiology like the asari, pain without lasting damage. A turian could dream.

He pulled his talons through her dark hair, breathing in the delicate musk of her damp body—an unusual smell, but not a disagreeable one. Different than turian sex. Earthier. She seemed fragile, but she wasn't; her physical vulnerability, at least, was a lie. Her emotional state was another matter, but maybe he could help. Maybe if he showed enough warmth, she would heal.

"I didn't imagine it? You did—"

She laughed softly, running her fingertips over his fringe to the skin beneath it. "I did. It was the best sex I ever had, in fact. Is that what you wanted to know?"

He shivered at her touch. "I wasn't going to ask. It seems impolitic to invite comparison."

"Even when you come out ahead?"

"Well. I didn't say I was sorry you volunteered the information."

"But it's not because it was kinky or new," she said. "Because it was you."

That was the truest thing she'd ever said. In his youth, he'd humped his way through half the turian military. He'd done it in crazy places, risked discovery and disciplinary action, but nobody had ever made him feel like Gwen, as if he'd die if he didn't have her. Nobody ever left him shaken at the power of it and unable to move away if his life depended on it. He still wanted to mark her, but it couldn't happen so fast. At this point, he didn't know her intentions—and they might not even survive this mission. After all, those Cerberus fuckers kept talking about the impossible odds. Right now, though, nothing seemed out of reach. Not even happiness.

"Yes. That." He brushed his scarred cheek against hers, and then touched his forehead to hers. Nuzzling. Content.

For the first time since Sidonis's betrayal, Garrus closed his eyes and slept, deeply and without dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

Ten

Gwen woke in increments, the tiniest shifts and steps—first the skittering realization that she wasn't alone—and her lover didn't have human skin. She expected, perhaps, a whisper of regret or chagrin, some sign all wasn't as it should be. When she left her cabin, everything would change. The others would talk… and humans might judge. It hadn't been so long since the war, all things considered.

She realized with some surprise that she didn't give a fuck. Everything was perfect. They'd find a way to make it work. In certain key locations, her body felt as if it had undergone a powerful exfoliating treatment, but there was no pain. He still slept.

According to the luminescent timepiece beside her bed, she had been out for four hours. Longer than usual. No nightmares either. On bad nights, she dreamed of dying—of the bitter cold where her suit tore and the red fire in her chest, spreading outward as she choked to death. Everything should go dark then, but instead she had a nuclear winter of half-life memories, borne from her time as a tank-thing, a creature of chips and wires. Small wonder she found little in common with her fellow men; they had never been broken and brought back.

Unable to get warm, she slipped from the bed and into the shower, where she sat beneath the hot water far longer than necessary, until her skin glowed scalding-pink, and yet there was still that bare-bones place inside her that echoed with that almost-remembered death. When she emerged, Garrus still hadn't stirred. She stood for a moment, watching him. To the best of her recollection, he'd never been this relaxed before, sniper senses dialed down. That seemed even better than sex—this evidence of profound trust.

It was 0400, and she didn't need to be on the command deck for a couple of hours yet, so she slipped back into bed beside him. The movement woke him this time and he rolled toward her. He propped himself on an arm, regarding her in pensive silence.

"No regrets?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "I just don't sleep in eight hour shifts anymore. Four feels like a lot these days."

"It's been ages since I could sleep at all," he admitted.

"I guess we need each other." It felt odd to open up to him this way. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she had anyone inside her emotional perimeter.

"I'm all right with that. I won't be leaving your side again."

"Garrus…" She laid her hand against his scarred cheek and his eyes closed. "If I had it to do all over again, I'd tell Alliance command to fuck off. I wouldn't bounce you from the Normandy."

"That's good to know. But we don't get do-overs. If we did, I'd change a lot of things."

"But not this?" She tried to hide the spike of anxiety.

He covered her hand with his larger claw, dragging his claws gently down the back. "Never this."

"We have a good three hours before we need to get back to the mission."

"What are you proposing?"

"More sleep?" She laughed at the way he snapped his teeth.

"Do _I_ get a vote?"

"Of course. I'm not your commander in bed… unless that's a game you want to play."

Amusement glinted in his fine, blue eyes. "Not now, I think."

"Then I'm open to suggestions." She edged closer.

He drew her in with one long arm. "Remember what I said about proximity?"

"Turians only get this close to fight or fuck."

"Right. And I don't feel like fighting. But can you—"

"I'm fine." She leaned in and brushed her mouth against the thinner skin on the side of his throat.

"If you're sure." With that, he pushed her flat on her back. "If I understood you correctly, it's my turn to do whatever the hell I like with you."

A startled breath escaped her, but she smiled up at him. When had everything about him become so beautiful and dear? She could listen to his voice for hours. And this? It was brand new. She'd never let a lover 'do whatever the hell he liked' with her. Always, she retained some element of control, preferring to dominate rather than submit. Probably, that preference bled through from her career and her past, but she found no prickle of discomfort in yielding to him.

"That's what I offered," she said, wondering if he knew how unprecedented that was.

"I don't know that much about human sexuality, just what I've seen in a few vids, and I'm not sure how accurate they were. They seemed… exaggerated."

She stifled a laugh. "If it was porn, then you shouldn't base anything on them."

"I'll go with my gut instead, then."

He leaned down, as if for a kiss, but turians didn't. Instead he plucked gently at her lips with his teeth. The sensation was unusual, faint danger edged in excitement. She wished she could reciprocate, but she'd promised to let him do what he would with her. Rising desire promised it would be memorable. He touched his tongue to her mouth; it was long and slender, hot and rough. She licked in response, realizing they could kiss like this.

He made a sound of surprised pleasure. Didn't turians do this? Or was it all fighting and clawing until the orgasm passed? _Maybe I should've watched some turian porn. _But that would only make her more self-conscious about their differences. This wasn't about how turians did it, or how humans did. It only mattered how Garrus and Gwen made love.

"Do you like that?" he growled.

"Mmm. Yes."

It was all the encouragement he needed. He tasted her repeatedly, until her lips throbbed, faintly swollen. Then he moved to her throat, tender with his sharp teeth. He stroked down her sides with his claws, lingering at her waist, a turian erogenous zone, as she recalled, and it became sexual for her too, just six inches above her aching mound. When she reached for him, he pressed her back.

"I'm not finished with you."

"You're killing me, Garrus."

His eyes sparked. "Now you know how I felt."

"I'm tough. I can take it." Her bravado melted into a wordless moan when he turned his teeth to her breasts. So easily, he could hurt her, but he gave mind-blowing pleasure instead.

He nibbled around her nipples, so careful that she squirmed against his restraint, wanting more, harder, fiercer, faster, and he caught her wrists above her head in one claw. "I warned you. _I'm_ in charge."

Pure lust hazed her mind. She'd never been treated this way. Past lovers had been intimidated; they unconsciously took orders from her even in bed. But this… this was unexpectedly exciting. She relaxed in his hold, accepting his dominance.

"Sorry," she said huskily.

"Keep your arms above your head, and don't try to stop me again." He had a little snarl as he spoke, and it thrilled her.

Garrus worked his way down her body, tasting and biting. He left small red marks that would heal quickly, _too_ quickly, perhaps. Arousal built as he drew closer and closer to her core. When he reached her thighs, she moaned and opened to him, wanting this more than she'd ever wanted anything. She didn't know what he'd do—what he _could_ do—but he surprised her with demanding lashes of his narrow tongue, right where she needed it. It took all her self-control to keep her arms over her head and not stroke behind his fringe in desperate encouragement.

_He didn't say you had to be still. _

Her hips responded instantly, as if the thought freed her. She undulated against him, taking the shocking brush of his facial plates as part of the pleasure. They contrasted roughly with his tongue, offering incredible stimulation.

"You want to mate again."

That wasn't news, but it seemed to inflame him. His licking grew more intense and focused until she shuddered and came, arching up into a shivering bow. He covered her then, and with one thrust, he was inside. It took real effort to wrap her legs around his hips. She felt limp with satiation.

"Garrus," she breathed.

This time, he didn't protest when she touched him. She stroked his throat, the tender spot behind his fringe, his waist, and she used her feet to rub along the back of his spurs, urging him on. He was fierce in his desire, but unlike a human lover. His thrusts had a different pattern, long stroke, hold, press, grind, long stroke, but the rhythm soon kindled her need again—because it was _Garrus_, gasping in her arms and losing control again. He was the most reserved person she'd ever met, icy and in command of himself. Except in her arms.

"Yes," he gritted out. "_Yes_."

"Do it. Let go."

The mild bite of pain told her he was getting close, and his ferocity drove her to new heights. She wrapped around him, rubbed against him, frantic to get off again when he did. Gwen felt the moment he swelled, the tendrils pulsing again and again, nipping into her soft flesh. The tender hurt spiked her over the edge into climax, and she dug her heels into the soft flesh behind his spurs, driving him wild. At his peak, he sank his teeth into her throat, almost hard enough to draw blood. He rocked and jerked as he spilled into her, his voice guttural in her ear. Afterward, she held him for long moments while he gasped his pleasure in broken breaths.

_I could totally pass out again. _

"Request to sleep for twelve hours," he said, resting his brow against hers. His weight was heavy, but not unwelcome, and she loved that he didn't roll away right off.

"Denied, Vakarian. We have a job to do at 0700." Then she had a thought, and her voice turned teasing. "Well, I guess you could stay in bed. But I'm going to find Okeer. It'll probably be dangerous. Don't worry, I'll take Jacob and Zaeed."

He eased back to stare down into her face. "Are you _baiting_ me?"

"A little."

"You try to leave me behind again like you did on Omega, even for my own good, and the consequences will be …unpleasant. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Crystal."

He hesitated then. "Do you want to keep this a secret? Disrupt the crew as little as possible."

"I have no intention of making you my dirty little secret, Garrus. This isn't a military ship, and I can do what I like, so long as it doesn't impact the mission."

"But it will," he said gently. "Won't it?"

In a flash, she realized he was right. There was no way she could make a decision that left Garrus hanging in the wind, no matter how many other lives it saved. And that was exactly why she'd rejected Lieutenant Alenko when he developed a crush on her aboard the Normandy. She suspected it had been more the fact that she listened to him than anything else. That had been a good, sound decision, and it left her with enough emotional distance to make the tough call when the time came.

_I can't do that again. I'm not that Shepard. _

Gwen met his gaze squarely. "Let's hope it doesn't come down to a rock and a hard place, because you're my rock, and I'll choose you every time."

His eyes closed for a long moment, and when they opened, they revealed a visceral joy. "Maybe I shouldn't be so glad to hear that, but… I am. I don't want you to be a hero, Gwen. I just want you to be mine."

Her heart trembled. Melted. _For how long, Garrus? Where's this going? _But it was too soon to ask. Maybe this would turn out to be a combat-driven fling that would burn out over the course of the assignment. Hopefully, they'd part on good terms and remain friends, if that were the case, because her whole body went cold at the idea of losing him.

"Good to know," she said aloud. "Well, let's put some pep in our step, Vakarian. We have a krogan to recruit."


	11. Chapter 11

Eleven

"So who's going to Korlus with us?" Garrus asked as they rode down in the lift.

He suspected it wasn't wise to stride into the CIC with her, making it clear they'd spent the night together, but Gwen insisted it was best to get it out in the open. _It's none of their damn business what goes on in my bunk, _she'd said, just before he showered. And while that was true, Cerberus wasn't known for its tolerance toward aliens. Hell only know what they'd make of the situation, but he was too pleased about staking a claim to care.

"I'm open to suggestions."

The doors swished open, and Yeoman Chambers glanced up from her console to say _Good morning, commander, _as she always did, but the words died as she surveyed them. Garrus stared, daring her to say something, and then to his surprise, she _smiled. _

"Commander, you have new messages at your private terminal. Good to see you out of the battery, Officer Vakarian."

He strangled a laugh. "Everyone needs a morning constitutional."

"Oh, is _that_ what they need?" Was the girl teasing him? Hard for him to read most human faces because he hadn't studied them like Gwen's but at a guess, yes.

Gwen strode over to the galaxy map, input their destination coordinates and received confirmation from Joker that it wouldn't take long to arrive. The relays made for efficient long distance travel.

"Among other things." He directed his gaze back to Gwen, who stood hipshot, eyeing them with equal measures of consternation and bemusement. "You were saying?"

"You asked who our third would be."

_Ah, right. _Satisfaction purled through him like a wave lashing the shore. It meant everything that she'd committed to making this _their _mission. _I'll be her right hand. _The left would vary, according to circumstances and target objective.

"Can you give me a run down of our options? I haven't spent much time getting to know the rest of the team."

"That's because you're always holed up, calibrating the weapons," the yeoman teased.

In truth, he'd spent all his time down there because he wasn't comfortable on a Cerberus ship, and beside that, he'd been brooding like a jackass. Over past mistakes, over Gwen, over wanting things he'd thought he couldn't have. Embarrassing in a turian of his age and experience, really. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Let's talk in the comm room," she said then.

She wore an odd look, as if she didn't know what to make of the exchange. He didn't either. Chambers had a flirtatious manner, but he'd noticed she was indiscriminate about it. She sparkled at everyone who wandered by, which was rather disconcerting.

"Right behind you."

Gwen got right down to business. There was no sign of the lover who couldn't get enough of him. "Mordin's a scientist, but he's former STG, which means he's deadly. Jacob's a good man, solid, reliable. Not the toughest, but he's got effective biotics. Miranda's cocky, and I don't much like her, but she's got mad skill—"

"And she knows it," he finished. "Which leaves Jack and Zaeed?"

"You saw what Jack can do. I need to talk to her at some point… but I haven't had a chance yet." There, he glimpsed a flash of heat. _He _was the reason she'd been too busy. Given half a chance, he'd keep her occupied for a solid year. Gwen went on, "I hear she's squatting on the engineering deck, and the crew's terrified of her. Well, except for Ken. He's trying to decide if he's brave enough to make a move."

"It'd take a braver man than me," he said, remembering how Jack had blown the prison ship to hell. "And she's not my type anyway."

"Human?"

"Crazy."

Gwen laughed softly, the sound limned in relief, as if she still entertained the idea that her humanity posed a barrier between them. "Anyway, that leaves Zaeed. He's a typical merc, fast with various weapons, hard as hell to kill."

"We worked well with Mordin when we went after Jack," he said, after a moment's thought.

"I'll call him up." Within moments, she'd done as she said, ordering Mordin to meet them at the shuttle bay.

"Acknowledged, commander. En route." The salarian always spoke in terse, truncated sentences, and his staccato speech could be amusing or hard to follow, depending on the topic.

Once on the shuttle, she gave the mission brief efficiently, as she always had. It was difficult to equate this tough, collected woman with the one who melted in his arms yet they were one in the same. Mordin listened with his usual air of abstraction, then he turned, cocked his wedge-shaped head, and studied the two of them.

"Something different. Tension gone. Inappropriate to inquire further."

"Moving _on_," Gwen snapped.

"Right. Sorry. Please continue." Mordin folded his long fingers in his lap.

She concluded the briefing as they put down on Korlus. It was a shithole of a world, and what else was new? Missions like theirs took them to worlds in ruins and stations on the brink of disaster, ships plummeting planetside, and remote outposts where rogue AIs were executing all the meat bags. And he wouldn't change a minute of it, so long as he got to fight at her side.

They hit hostiles almost as soon as they set foot dirtside, a barrage of shots coming in hard and hot. Garrus dove for cover. Through the scope, he identified Blue Suns merc armor, but these guys were shitty shots. Distant loudspeakers played crackling propaganda, some woman ranting about the glorious future to come.

"Someone likes the sound of her own voice," he muttered.

Mordin fired off a round that left a Blue Sun recruit screaming as his armor burned. "Interesting place. Training facility. Many krogan."

"How do you know?" Gwen asked, bobbing from behind cover to set Garrus up a perfect shot with her biotics.

He'd missed this so much. He sighted and shot, nailing the bastard. "Head shot!"

"Can smell them. Distinctive." Mordin tapped the side of his nose.

Garrus smelled a number of things, including krogan. Burning wires, hot metal, carbon and cordite, sweaty humans. The air was a melting pot of interesting scents, most of which meant they had a long fight on their hands. It wouldn't be an easy run to recruit Okeer, but he hadn't expected it to be, either.

"Huh." Gwen vaulted over a pile of crates as the closest merc dropped. Head down, she went in a graceful run and slid under a slash of laser fire.

_Dammit._ He hated when she did that. She didn't have a soldier's hardiness, which meant only her shields stood between her and a splatter fest. But she was fearless, and she never sent anyone else in first. If they needed to push, she ran for it, and it was up to him to keep up. Garrus sprang after her and pressed further this time. He preferred distance combat, but to prevent the Blue Sun asshole from taking aim at Gwen, he shot him in the face with his pistol, point blank range.

"Nice," Mordin said. "Possible asset ahead."

Garrus turned and saw Gwen making for an injured soldier. The guy was moaning about his leg when they reached him. "It doesn't look that bad," he said softly to Mordin, but she motioned him to silence.

_Right. Time for a mindfuck. _She was good at it.

The verbal negotiation went on for a while. Eventually, she got the injured merc pissing scared, and he gave all the information she needed, as well as radioed other teams to warn them away from the area. Garrus would've shot him in the head, and by Mordin's expression, he felt the same, but Gwen let the man go.

"Maybe you'll make it to a med kit before you bleed out," she offered.

The merc whimpered as he limped away. If he was smart, he'd go into another line of work… because if Garrus ran into him again, he'd end him. He wasn't convinced it had been smart to show mercy, but it wasn't his place to question her decisions. As long as she let him watch her six, he had no complaints.

They fought through a host of Blue Sun recruits before coming up on a krogan decimating the grunts. More interesting, he didn't turn on them when they reached the battle. He just kept fighting, his focus on the Blue Suns alone. Afterward, Gwen had a bizarre conversation with him. The big krogan kept saying he wasn't perfect—that he was to fight and fight but not go anywhere until called. Only Gwen could've convinced him to help them out, which included moving a huge chunk of metal out of their way so they could finish the run to Okeer.

_The bastard better be worth the trouble. _

Past the barricades, they hit a half-ruined building with broken floors and staircases. And it was full of crazy, tank-grown krogan. Whatever the Blue Suns were trying to accomplish, they couldn't be permitted to succeed. Mordin muttered about the genophage as he set krogan on fire. He looked scrawny and weak, but he was fast with his guns, and good about torching his targets. While they screamed and ran, Garrus and Gwen picked them off.

"Great work," she said as they pushed higher.

At last they came to a lab, where a vaguely familiar female sat behind a desk. The woman's mouth dropped open. "Shepard, don't shoot. You know me." The asari went on, "I shut down the security cams as soon as I saw it was you. Never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad it's you shooting up the place. Sorry, Rana Thanoptis. You let me go when you destroyed Saren's lab on Virmire. Had to outrun a nuke in a utility pod but it's still a second chance."

Gwen swung her weapon up. "I assume you have a good reason for being at this lab?"

"Don't worry, I'm not wasting the chance you gave me. My work here – strictly beneficial. Not for the mercs. Jedore's on a standard power trip. But Okeer is trying to do something good. Even if his methods are a little… extreme. Everyone deserves a second chance. Right? And sometimes giving one pays off. I take care of my debts."

"What is Okeer trying to do here?" Gwen cut in.

Rana shrugged. "It's complicated. Jedore wants a private army, but Okeer mostly ignores her. He's running the project for his own reasons. I created a mental imprint routine to educate his tank-bred, but most don't get through it. He dumps them for some reason. He wants to help his people, but he's not looking for a genophage cure and he's not going for numbers. That's all I know."

Gwen fixed her stern expression in place; she didn't lower her weapon, and Garrus knew exactly what she was doing. "Finding you in a place like this makes me think letting you go was a mistake. You don't want that."

"We agree on that. Don't worry, I plan on staying as far away from anything to do with you as possible. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to run like hell before you blow the place or something. I know how you work."

Despite himself, Garrus chuckled. Things did have a tendency to go up in flames, whatever Gwen intended going in. She had that kind of impact. Shepard cut him a sharp look, but her eyes softened as she gazed at him. He couldn't look away—forgot, in fact, why he was amused in the first place.

Mordin cleared his throat. "Warlord nearby. Should push to objective."

"Agreed," she said, breaking eye contact.

In the next room, a deep rumble of a voice greeted them. "Here you are. I've watched your progress. It's about time. The batteries on these tanks will not wait while you play with these idiotic mercs."

Deliberately, Gwen replaced the thermal clip in her weapon. "I take it you're Okeer. You don't seem particularly caged… or grateful that I'm here."

"You may claim to be here to help, but the formerly deceased Shepard is not a sign of gentle change. Surprised? All krogan should know you. I'm sure Rana has already revisited your actions on Virmire."

That sounded threatening. He took half a step forward. If this old bastard thought he could chastise her for what she'd done, he had to come through Garrus first. She lifted a hand, telling him silently to stand down. He heard her voice in his head, what she'd say about his temper: _We need him, Garrus. No killing potential allies. _

Her tone remained level. "I didn't have a lot of room for finesse. If there'd been any other solution, I'd have considered it."

"But I approve. Saren's pale horde were not true krogan. Numbers alone are nothing. The mistake of an outsider, one that these mercenaries have also made. I gave their leader my rejects for her army. But she grows impatient. It's time for you to take me out of here."

"We're here about the Collectors," Garrus said. He didn't give a shit about krogan, imitation or otherwise.

"I see. Yes, Collector attacks have increased. A human concern. My requests were focused elsewhere. I acquired the knowledge to create one pure soldier. With that, I will inflict upon the genophage the greatest insult an enemy can suffer. To be ignored."

"What did you get from the Collectors?" Gwen demanded. "I need whatever you know about them."

"They are strange. So isolated, yet very available when your sacrifice is big enough. I gave them many krogan. I may have information for you but the tech was consumed in my prototype. After I determined how to use it without killing the subjects. The deaths were unfortunate, but I only needed one success to start the process."

Garrus snapped his teeth in distaste. _Really? This guy? _With Jack on the team, it seemed like they had enough murderous maniacs. But he held his silence while they went back and forth, striking a deal.

Then a woman's voice came over the loudspeaker, the same one from the propaganda recordings, but this time, she was live. "Attention! I've traced the krogan release. Okeer, of course. I'm calling 'blank slate' on this project. Gas these commandoes and we'll start over from Okeer's data. Flush the tanks!"

Okeer growled, "She's that weak-willed? She'll kill my legacy with a damned valve!" He turned to Gwen. "Shepard, if you want information on the Collectors? Stop her!"

_Shit,_ Garrus thought. _I just _knew_ this wasn't going to be easy. _


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve

_Failure. _The stench of it clung to Gwen in smoky wisps, along with a chemical tang from the gas that had killed Okeer. She was supposed to return to the Normandy with a new member for the team, a bad-ass warlord with knowledge of the Collectors. Instead, she had his pet science project and half the team shouting at each other down in the briefing room over what the hell they should do with the krogan in the tank.

The old Shepard wouldn't have screwed up that last mission; she'd have found a way to save Okeer. That knowledge sat in her gut in an icy knot, reminding her that Project Lazarus—_I'm a project, just like the krogan in the tank—_had failed. _I'm not the woman they tried to bring back. _Days before, she'd discreetly accessed all the notes and logs regarding her recreation. Listened to Miranda Lawson talk impersonally about the damage to her corpse and how they'd resorted to bio-synthetic fusion. What the hell did that even mean?

_You know what it means. You're a cyborg, at best, a replicant version of yourself._

She could have ordered dinner and Rupert would've sent it up to her cabin, no questions asked. He'd been her willing slave since she got him those high quality provisions on the Citadel. Instead, she forced herself to clean up all traces of this botched mission, changed into casual clothing, and then went to dine with her crew. It was good for morale when she mixed with the rank and file. Showed how much she cared.

The only problem was, she didn't. Not really. These people were all strangers who worked for Cerberus. Sure, they claimed they wanted to stop the attacks on human colonies, but they worked for people who thought of her as a project, an experimental-test-tube-thing, and that wasn't a relationship she saw ending well. They viewed her as a resource, a weapon even, to be deployed against their target of choice.

_Hunt and kill, Shepard. It's for the greater good. _Maybe it was just the sting of ignominy blazing in her head, but she was so fucking tired. Yet she went through the motions. Answered when Hadley and Hawthorne joked with her, always with that edge of awe in their voices. She wasn't a person to them. Not really. She was an icon, the Savior of the Citadel—the madwoman who drove a Mako through a mass relay, took out a Reaper, and lived to tell about it. They hadn't been there.

Garrus had. He'd helped her out of the wreckage when her ankle wouldn't bear her weight for more than two steps. And in turn, she'd thanked him for his loyalty by going belly up. _I should've fought for him when the orders came down. _It galled her that she hadn't—not for him, Tali, Wrex, or Liara. _I just smiled and towed the line. _No more. Not one step further. She didn't trust the damned Illusive Man, which was dumb-ass name anyway. Pretentious. This time, she'd fight tooth and claw for the people she cared about, maybe because her world had narrowed so fast, though it had been two years for everyone else.

"You look pretty grim," Garrus said, breaking into her thoughts.

She hadn't noticed when the others left the table or when he joined her. Gwen lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. "Just reflecting on my various failures."

"Don't. If you start, I'll have to, and nobody wants that."

Despite her dark mood, his wry humor put a smile on her face. "Are you threatening to brood? Maybe I like it when you get all angsty."

"Turians don't do angst," he growled.

"Liar."

He canted his head. "Well, _most_ turians don't. I do, a little. But only on days that end in Y."

Laughter escaped her before she realized how much he'd lightened her state of mind. "Big of you to admit it."

"The mission today was a clusterfuck," she said softly. "I can't help thinking that Shepard mark one would've gotten it done. Somehow. She was all about achieving the impossible."

"And what about Gwen?" He cut to the heart of the matter, as ever.

"She just wants to survive. Dying taught her there are more important things than the mission."

"Like?" It was a leading question, of course.

"Us."

His sharp intake of breath told her she'd surprised him. Garrus glanced around the dining area, as if he wondered if anyone had overheard. But he story was already making the rounds, though, about the commander and her turian lover. She'd heard a couple of crewmen whispering about it, not realizing her bio-synthetic fusion included absurdly acute hearing.

"It's amazing what an impact that word has," he rasped. "For such a long time, I was on my own."

"What about your team?" They'd loved him; she knew. She had an email from Nalah Butler, proving as much. The woman had begged her to look after Garrus and not let him blame himself for what befell her husband.

"We worked together. I felt responsible for them. Liked some of them well enough and I took pride in the work we did. But it wasn't the same."

Yeah, she got it. The bond they'd forged on the first Normandy had been closer than she'd let anyone get to her in years. Back then, she never dreamed that connection would lead to this.

"Part of me wants to say, _screw this, _and run off with you, y'know."

"But you won't." Faint regret laced his gravelly tone.

"I'm not sure how far we'd get with no ship and Cerberus looking to repo all the tech and creds they spent rebuilding me."

"They'll have to come through me first." In anyone else, that would sound like pointless posturing. Bravado. From Garrus, who had killed a hundred mercs with his sniper rifle, it was sexy, dangerous, and a true threat.

"Today was just a bad day," she added with a shrug. "What the hell am I going to do with tank-krogan?"

Garrus showed his teeth in what passed for a grin among turians. "Wake him up and ask him?"

"Not today. Right now, I could use some time alone with you." It wasn't easy making the request; she wasn't used to putting her feelings out there, but he was worth a little emotional discomfort. If men and women had a hard time reading each other, it got even more complicated when you added a different species to the mix. If this had any hope of working, they both had to be candid about their needs.

"Is this code for sex?"

Smiling faintly, she shook her head. "With me, there are no codes. If I meant sex, I'd say 'Let's go upstairs and fuck'."

"You'd march right into the battery with that?" he teased.

"In the right mood, I would. And I'd kick your ass if you were too busy calibrating."

He growled a laugh. "I love my guns, Gwen, on ship and elsewhere, but not _that_ much."

"That's not what I heard." To her delight, he laughed again. It seemed like ages since she'd seen him so lighthearted. Disenchantment with C-Sec left him bitter, and the destruction of his team on Omega had blighted his spirit. If her lame jokes helped him heal, she'd keep them coming. "Let's go up."

In her quarters, he reached for her with flattering alacrity. In public, he was still a little gunshy, maybe because it was still so new. He drew her down onto his lap, not the sort of thing she would've expected. Turians weren't cuddly as a rule, but she certainly didn't protest.

"I appreciate your directness," he whispered against her hair. "It makes things easier for me."

"I'm trying. But do me the same favor. I can't know what you need unless you tell me." In her way, she was trying to forestall problems arising down the line from their differences. Tension stemming from missed cues, misread signals. "Even if it seems elementary to you, something I _should _know on my own, tell me anyway. I don't want ever want to let you down, Garrus."

"You never could."

"But?"

"Turians aren't much for talking about that sort of thing."

"So? You're not a normal turian."

His tone turned wry. "You had to remind me?"

"It's not a _bad_ thing. I'm not a normal human, either. But together, we fit."

Better than she could've imagined, in fact. She nestled into the curve of his arm, draping hers around his shoulders. Absently, he drew his claws down her arm as if he couldn't stand not touching her. She hadn't known he'd be such a tactile lover, so hungry for contact. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised, though. Her death had been hard on him in ways he hadn't articulated.

"I'll try," he said at last. "But you must understand I don't know what I need. I've never been in a relationship before. I was a soldier and then a C-Sec officer. I never had time for anything serious."

"There were females, though."

"Of course. Turians when I served in the fleet and asari on the Citadel."

A pang of jealousy went through her. "I'm really starting to dislike those blue bitches."

"No need." He dragged a claw through her short curls. "These days, I definitely prefer hair over... whatever the asari have."

"Mmm." She could sit on his lap for hours and let him pet her.

"This might be an inappropriate question—"

"Just ask."

"Am I your first?" He tilted his head meaningfully, blue eyes bright with curiosity and something more, an emotion she couldn't name. Maybe he envied the men in her past, too. That was a balm.

Still, she couldn't resist teasing. "I've had lovers before, Garrus."

"That wasn't what I was asking, and you know it."

"First...what? Turian? Yes."

Because he was clever, he caught on right away. "But not your first interspecies fling?"

Dammit, she hated hearing that word applied to what they had, but she realized he meant nothing by it. He wasn't intentionally limiting their shelf life. The term applied more to her prior hookups than their situation.

"There was a drell, a long time ago." Funny, it had been years since she thought of him.

"What happened?" His voice sounded odd and rough, his hand tightening in her hair. Gwen wondered at his reaction, hoping she could guess what drove it.

"Two ships passing in the night. You know the drill."

"Definitely." Garrus leaned his head against hers. "I wish I hadn't asked. I hate thinking about you with anyone else. Which is crazy. I know you didn't live in a vacuum before you met me."

"Nobody matters but you," she whispered.

Gwen considered. "Then tell me what you want. Talking, touching, sex, a good fight, or someone to listen... I can offer any and all of the above."

"All of that. But not at the same time."

She laughed. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Cheering me up. I'd landed on Planet Self-Loathing and was making first contact with self-doubt when you came along."

"Gwen," he said softly. "I didn't just 'come along'. I saw your reaction when we got back up to the lab and found Okeer dying. I knew you'd take it personally."

She kissed the tender skin on the side of his neck. "Still, thank you for noticing."

"I consider it part of my job description."

"So I'm a job to you?" Teasing tone, fear beneath it.

"The only one I'll ever love."

She froze. "The job... or me?"

"Yes."

Maybe it wasn't a declaration, but it felt like one; she had to ask to know for sure. "Do you love me, Garrus Vakarian?"


	13. Chapter 13

Thirteen

"I'm sorry to interrupt... whatever you're doing up there with Garrus, commander, but you have an incoming urgent message from the Illusive Man. I'm patching him through to the comm room." Joker's sly, teasing voice prevented Garrus from answering.

Quite honestly, he felt grateful for the interruption. He didn't want to make such a declaration now. If he told her how he felt about her in response to a direct inquiry, she'd always wonder if he'd been pressured into a commitment. He had been working with her for years, and he knew how she thought. It would be better to time it right when she could have no doubts.

Though Gwen's features tightened as she rolled out of bed, she would never shirk her duty. "It's none of your business what I'm doing. Tell him I'll be right there, Joker."

She dressed with quick efficiency, and Garrus followed suit. Gwen smiled at him ruefully. "Saved by the bell, huh? Sorry if I got too intense."

"We'll have that conversation," he promised, "but maybe it would be smart to finish the mission first."

"Yeah, I got ahead of myself. We should just work at being happy, as long as we can be. The future might not even be an option for us. Come talk to Smoky the Asshole with me?"

_Shit. What does she mean? _Garrus had no doubt about his own feelings, but maybe this wasn't as serious for her. Maybe it was a wartime thing, meant to distract from dire daily life. If so, he'd survive it, somehow, as long as she didn't get awkward after it was over and try to cut him out of her life.

"If you like."

She finished buckling her armor into place. "I do."

For the first time, Garrus went with her to conference with the Illusive Man. It seemed cowardly that the bastard never revealed his true identity or his location. He left all the danger to his subordinates. That made him weak, so far as turians were concerned. Turian commanders didn't hide.

As soon as the system scanned them into the virtual room, the Cerberus leader spoke. "Shepard, I—you brought someone else in."

"You can say anything in front of Garrus that you would to me."

"I see." The Illusive Man seemed to read something into her statement and asked, "Is that wise?"

"Fuck you," Gwen said conversationally. "Give me the mission brief or I'm going back to bed."

"Very well. It's your ship. I hope you won't do anything to endanger it."

"Get to the point," Garrus growled.

He understood now why Gwen hated this guy. The Illusive Man radiated misplaced superiority, as if he knew better than anyone else. On the Citadel, he'd encountered countless bureaucrats who labored under the same delusion—that they were special, irreplaceable. But the truth was, a monkey could collate intel and send orders.

"Shepard, I think we have them!" Excitement tinged the Cerberus leader's tone, enough that he was willing to disregard the difference of opinion. "Horizon—one of our colonies in the Terminus systems—just went silent. If it isn't under attack, it soon will be. Has Mordin delivered the counter measure for the seeker swarms?"

Gwen shook her head. "Not yet."

"Let's hope he works well under pressure. There's something else you should know..."

Garrus listened in disbelief. The more he learned about human organizations, the more he couldn't believe their lack of scruples. Not that the turian military was any better. But the whole thing was disgusting—that Cerberus would leak news of Shepard's "betrayal" and that the Alliance would send personnel as bait for the Collectors. Didn't these bare-faced dogs have _any_ honor at all?

Gwen sighed as they left the comm room. "Nobody came out of that smelling like roses. And it's _beyond_ delightful that my old teammates think I'm a traitor."

He rested a claw lightly on her shoulder. "Those who matter know the truth."

"You're the only one who matters," she said softly.

Pleasure suffused his whole body, deeper and fiercer than sex. In response, he trailed his claws lightly down her back and drew away before his impulses got the best of him. They were ramping up to another mission, the most important one yet, and there was no time for personal gratification. Which was too damn bad.

_You're my life, _he said in his head. But as he'd stated in her quarters, it wasn't the time for promises. Not when they were at war. They had to live moment by moment, even if each one thrummed with the bittersweet resonance of mourning drums. As she moved away, he drew in a breath of her, as if he could hold her in his lungs, as if he could keep her with him always. But she felt like starlight in his palms, dazzling but ephemeral. Hurt welled up, haloed in fear.

He feared there was no _always _in times like this. There was only right now.

"I'll head to the shuttle." His voice came out deeper, a growl rather than its normal tone.

She nodded, already checking something on her private terminal. If he knew her—and he did—Gwen was comparing skills to see who would prove the most useful against the Collectors. As he walked off, he heard her muttering about Zaeed's concussive shot versus Mordin's incineration. Collectors often had both armor and shields, which needed to be negated, and she would factor everything before deciding who completed the team.

"Garrus," she called.

He turned. "Yes?"

"Mordin, Jack or Zaeed?"

"We may need someone durable," he said. "Zaeed, I think."

Gwen nodded. "I'll call him."

The mood in the shuttle was grim and quiet. Zaeed checked his weapons four times before they put down. Mordin was on the comm, explaining how his invention worked. It didn't sound like a good idea to Garrus, but the alternative was to let all these people disappear without even trying to save them. Gwen would never go for that. He swung out of the transport and tilted his head back. Overhead the Collector ship loomed, a dark and monstrous thing that blotted out the light.

Zaeed spat into the grass. "So it's another suicide mission, is it? They're not paying me enough for this."

"Lock and load," Garrus said, readying his weapon.

"Mordin." Gwen tapped her comm. "We're on the ground. Are you sure these upgrades will protect us from the seeker swarms?"

"Certainty impossible," Mordin replied. "But in limited numbers should confuse detection, make you invisible to swarms. In theory."

"In theory? That sounds promising," Garrus grumbled.

He liked the salarian scientist well enough but he couldn't get excited about field testing his latest invention. Particularly not when it meant the difference between life and death. His own didn't matter so much, but Gwen? No. Living without her wasn't an option.

"Experimental technology. Only test is contact with seeker swarms. Look forward to seeing if you survive." Mordin cut the comm connection, likely to continue his lab work.

"I'm gonna make a belt outa that salarian when we get back," Zaeed muttered.

"No killing your teammates, even if they're annoying. This way." Gwen led the way through the jumble of crates while seekers flapped around them.

But the little beasts didn't attack, so maybe they'd survive this mission. Maybe. Some of Garrus's tension drained away. You'd think it would get easier, following her into danger. He had been doing it for years, but the more he cared, the more he wanted to protect her. Not that she'd let him. And that was frustrating as hell. Yet he couldn't blame her. The one time she'd left him behind, he almost lost his mind. Grimly, Garrus cocked his weapon and checked the clip. Beside him, Zaeed did the same.

"Shepard," he said, pointing.

Twin GARDIAN defense towers stood in the distance. Garrus didn't get it; what was so special about this colony that the Alliance would install such expensive military hardware to protect it? The Illusive Man would never tell them the truth, however. He hoped there were some survivors for them to question once they cleared the colony.

"I guess that explains the Alliance presence out here," she murmured.

"They couldn't keep the Collectors at bay, though. I wonder if they're even operational." Garrus studied the towers and saw no sign of activity.

_Maybe they dropped an EMP, took out the tech before they sent the first wave. _

Shepard tapped her comm. "Let's find out. EDI? Joker?"

Static greeted her at first, and then: "Comm… all kinds… ference. We can't maintain—"

"The Collectors are disrupting communications." Garrus slammed the side of the prefab housing with a fist.

_This mission just got even riskier. _

"Looks like we're on our own." Zaeed drew out his assault rifle. He didn't look alarmed at the prospect of facing an army of Collectors. The merc had nerves of steel.

"Aren't we always? Let's go do some collecting of our own," Gwen said grimly.

They pushed through the eerily silent colony, finding the only signs of passage in the form of discarded technology. She scanned the new data and kept moving, pure efficiency; occasionally she stopped to hack a datapad or investigate a safe. Then the husks hit. They didn't go down with one shot like the weaker ones had.

"These aren't the same as the ones we fought before," he called.

Gwen chucked one in the air for him. _Sweet thing._ He knelt, sighted, and shot. "Scratch one!"

He didn't always go for the headshot. Sometimes numbers were such that he had to go for speed, not elegance. And they were about to be overrun with husks. Gwen had four of them on her, but she popped them away with a judicious application of biotics. He nailed two and Zaeed took out the others. When she pushed to her feet, Gwen had scratches on her face, blood trickling down one cheek. Though he knew the wounds weren't serious—and that her implants would regen her skin soon—he hated seeing it. Rage pulsed in his head that anyone should hurt her, ever. With great effort, Garrus locked it down.

"They almost look like the husks I fought on Eden Prime," Gwen said thoughtfully. "Haven't seen any sign of geth involvement, though."

"Didn't the geth get their technology from Sovereign?"

Zaeed scowled. "Then the fucking Illusive Man was right. The Collectors work for the Reapers."

"It's the same as Freedom's Progress." Gwen closed her eyes for a moment, as if to rid herself of haunting images—the same pictures Garrus saw when he closed his eyes.

They had a lot in common these days. Nightmares, scars, doubts and fears. But that wasn't the reason he'd walk through fire for her.

"This one of the colonists?" Zaeed indicated the body at their feet.

Putting aside such personal thoughts, Garrus answered, "No. The geth impaled their victims on giant spikes to turn them into husks but we haven't seen any. The Collectors must have already had the husks. They want the colonists alive for something else."

"Grim fucking thought," the merc muttered.

They fought on, through four-eyed Collectors who had chitin skins and insectoid bodies. To Garrus, They seemed like drones; they didn't fight with tactics or strategy. They died when you shot them, burned them, or threw them fifty feet in the air, as Gwen preferred. Sometimes, when a voice called out, "Taking control!" their powers increased, but even higher-order Collectors died without too much trouble.

But the empty settlement took its toll on Gwen. Every time they passed through another prefab unit with dinner on the table, toys abandoned, her mouth drew a little tighter until it was only a white seam in her pale face. Her eyes shone blue and haunted, darker than the sky above, but with the same shadow as the one swirling around the Collector ship.

"All these people, gone." For once, the merc sounded genuinely perturbed—and for a jaded bastard like him to react, Garrus knew it was bad.

Zaeed loved telling stories about the people he'd killed, the missions he'd survived. His favorite was the one about being dropped behind enemy lines in the krogan DMZ, but in some ways, quiet was worse than carnage. When there were bodies, you could count them and mourn the dead. When people just vanished, there was no way to be sure what had become of them.

He came up to stand beside Gwen, resisting the urge to touch. To comfort. "All these empty buildings… it's unsettling." She stood beside a woman, frozen like an insect in amber. The settler's face showed absolute horror, mouth open in a silent scream, arms up to ward off an attack. "Looks like some kind of stasis field. Leaves victims helpless but fully aware."

"That would be hell," Gwen said softly. "And they must have been like this a long time."

"Are we going to talk about our feelings now?" Zaeed wanted to know. "Because I'm showing our target just ahead, and I came to kick some arse."


	14. Chapter 14

Fourteen

It was a killbox.

Gwen crouched behind a cluster of crates while arcs of fire streamed overhead. The mechanic they'd encountered earlier had been no help at all, bitching about Ashley and the Alliance. If he had any balls, he'd be out here with a gun in hand, trying to save the people he claimed to care about.

They had fought to within thirty yards of the terminal where she could check the status of the defense towers, but the area was crawling with Collectors—all different types. She didn't know if the different breeds had names, but they looked like giant, four-eyed cockroaches, and they needed to be squashed.

When enemy weapons overheated, she popped out of cover and went full auto on the bastard across the yard. It was enough to drop him, not a precise maneuver, but a painful one. His head exploded in a rain of bloody chitin, spattering the one next to him. But the creature didn't react. A normal sentient being would show some regret or sorrow at a comrade's passing. The other Collector simply took aim.

She crouched again. _Dammit. _Two more pushed toward her position. Taking a deep breath, she broke cover and ran low for the next set of crates. When the monsters pursued her, they'd have no choice but to step into the open. Her crew killed one; she didn't see it die but she smelled the lightning cordite smell and the char of flesh. The other opened fire, nailed her as she moved again.

The hit rocked her shields; the energy shimmered around her. _More. At least ten. More incoming. _They were pinned down, and the odds weren't good. These Collectors seemed tougher than the ones they'd fought coming in, or maybe she was just tired. She spun on two trying to flank her, slammed one away, and shot the other in the head at point blank range. More spatter. The blood hit her armor in a messy gush, sizzling on her shields. Gwen swiped a gloved hand across her helmet.

"Oooh, that was pretty," Zaeed called, signaling his approval with a thumbs-up.

_Crazy bastard. _

"Scoped and dropped!" Garrus took out the one creeping up on her left, and she wheeled, pressing closer to the terminal.

"Direct intervention is necessary!"

One of the Collectors went rigid in a beam of light, glowing ever brighter, until it dropped back down, and when it did, its appearance had changed. _What the hell is that? Some kind of transformative ray? _Whatever, it didn't matter. She had to kill it. But heavy cover fire from the other Collectors made it tough.

"Focus on that one," she shouted.

"Affirmative," Garrus called back.

"This isn't my first time," Zaeed growled. "I know how to prioritize targets."

But he'd follow orders; he was a good soldier and a good merc. He hadn't survived all these years by disregarding battle tactics. Garrus and Zaeed unloaded twin concussive shots on the prime Collector, now screaming _I am Harbinger_, whatever the hell that meant. She'd have EDI do some digging when they got back to the Normandy.

The shields dropped, and she warped the armor. Not enough to strip it, but the heavy fire from dual assault rifles chopped the rest of it, and then she slammed. Gwen leveled her weapon for the killshot. Harbinger was on the move. She took fierce fire from the rest of the Collectors, razing her shields entirely. The shots kept coming. Blood dripped from a wound on her side.

Ignoring the pain, she finished Harbinger with a chest shot, and the creature dissolved into burnt sienna dust, the ashes drifting away on a wind that smelled of death and destruction. She was shaking when she fell behind the crates, injured worse than she'd realized. That didn't matter either. Soon, her implants would kick in and regen these wounds. That wasn't a human ability.

But then, she'd given up such claims when she accepted a second chance from Cerberus. Battle cries echoed through the courtyard: _Impressive. This'll put 'em down. Bag 'em and tag 'em._ By the time she felt strong enough to rejoin the fight, Garrus and Zaeed had cleared the remaining Collectors. Corpses lay strewn all around, but none of them were human.

No colonists.

"You all right?" Garrus came up beside her, but he didn't touch. His body language didn't even betray their personal relationship; he was that good.

"Took some hits, but I'll survive."

"Scars are sexy." He touched the side of his face with a playful cant of his head, a flex of his mandible. "Your armor's pretty torn up, though."

"You're a matched fucking set," Zaeed said, joining them.

"So we are." She strode toward the transmitter. With a few judicious keystrokes, she hacked the system and restored communication.

"Normandy, do you copy?"

"Joker, here. Signal's weak, commander, but we got you."

Turning, she curled her hands into fists, glaring up at the Collector ship. _That's where our people are. _The Normandy could blow the hell out of the enemy vessel, but it would mean killing all human hostages on board. Once, she could never have considered such a course. The Savior of the Citadel preserved innocent life whenever possible; but Shepard Mark 2 realized that sometimes you had to do terrible things for the greater good. It wasn't an easy insight; nor did it bring any comfort. Soon, she might trade her heroic reputation for that of a mad butcher because people wouldn't understand, and she'd be left trying to explain this bloody judgment to her prosecutors. _Why did you kill all those people, Shepard? _

_I can end this now. If I order an airstrike, no more colonies will be taken. _

The mechanical part of her, the part Cerberus had built, recognized this as the rational choice. But the human aspect, whose whole squad died on Akuze, screamed fiercely in rejection of pure logic. _I can't do it. I can't. God help me. God help all of us. _

"Commander, are you there?" Joker asked. "I think I'm losing her—" Static crackled over the line.

"I'm here. EDI, can you do anything with the colony's defense towers?" Choice made, she figured she could use Alliance hardware to help her clear out the remaining ground resistance. As long as the Collectors kept coming, she'd keep killing them—until they were gone or she ran out of ammo.

_I won't hurt my own people, even for the greater good. _

"Errors in the calibration software are easily rectified, but it will take time to bring the towers to full power. I recommend a defensive posture. I will not be able to mask the increased generator output."

"I bet the Collectors will try to stop us," Zaeed said. "Which is good. I wasn't done shooting them."

"Defensive posture." She sighed. "Do you have any more useful suggestions, EDI?"

"Just one: enemy reinforcements are closing in. I suggest you ready weapons."

"If you say 'I was born ready', I'll shoot you." Gwen winked at Garrus, more to reassure him than because she felt like bantering.

"Promises, promises."

"We've got incoming, nine o'clock," Zaeed called. "Find some cover."

"On it."

Quickly, she scanned the courtyard. They had to fight close enough to the transmitter to keep the Collectors from jacking it, but there was no good cover nearby. Fighting beside it was out of the question. So she chose a spot in the southeast corner, behind a row of supplies. Garrus and Zaeed followed her orders, forming a triangle of fire. So long as all three of them held, there was no way the enemy could penetrate.

Collectors and husks came in hordes. Why the transmitter was so important, she had no idea. They had never destroyed a colony before, so why did they want control of the defense towers? _Probably to keep us from using them. _But that seemed like an inadequate answer. The sensible solution was to take the captives and bail. It made no sense to fight for ground you had no intention of holding.

Three husks ran toward her. Slam, warp, shot to the chest. It took four more to drop that one, and the other two reached her. They stank of technology gone wrong and rotten; they were techno-zombies, and they raked at her bloody armor with claws, snapped with black, sharp teeth. Gwen pistol whipped one in the face and then kicked it back so she could shoot it. She unloaded while taking hits from the other.

Garrus shouted, "Get down," and she dropped without hesitation, giving him a clean shot, and he took the creature through the head.

"I love this rifle!"

She heard Zaeed answer, "Yeah, yeah, we know. Get a room with it already," but she didn't have breath to laugh because the enemies were still coming.

_Reload. Aim. Fire._ The wave felt endless. Crates exploded. Monsters died.

"GARDIAN anti-ship batteries at 60%. Synching targeting protocols to Normandy's systems. Continue to protect the tower." From across the courtyard, EDI updated them on the charge of the defense towers.

Percentages weren't mission critical. She just had to keep killing these things until EDI took over when the towers came online. Her eyes burned from the chemical fumes wafting in lazy spirals, but she couldn't spare the time to dash away the tears. They collected on her chin, damping the bottom of her helmet. Four wounded burned in a low constant: shoulder, left arm, thigh, right flank, but she couldn't rest long enough to let them heal. She had to hold her end of the triad, keep the Collectors away from the terminal.

"We're on it!"

Gwen laid down heavy fire, shooting to ward the Collectors away, while Zaeed and Garrus did most of the killing. The trickling blood should've clotted by now, but at least some of her wounds were cauterized, coming from laser fire, not rending husk claws. Her vision got fuzzy, and still, the monsters came on. Four more husks converged on her position.

_Goddamn, how many of these things _are_ there? _

She lashed out with a kick, but her weak leg buckled. She went down hard, the three husks ready to rip her apart, so she popped shields that forced them away. Concentration made her head wink black spangled with the old gold of ancient stars interspersed with white hot sparks. _Can't keep this up. _

Garrus and Zaeed's gunfire sounded distant, but she kept the pistol in her hand, even on the ground. Dropping the shield before she passed out, she swept with her good leg and knocked a husk down. Prone, it was clumsy, buying her time to shoot it. It died writhing like a worm on its back. The other two lunged, and she rolled, then crawled around the side of the crate. When the next one popped into sight, she blasted it. Again. Again. Until it was a smoking corpse. The other should've had some self-preservation, some awareness that she was Gwen _fucking_ Shepard, and she was the bitch who wouldn't die, but that cognition had been stolen from these creatures. They had no will anymore, only programming. _Warp. Slam. Reload. _She took a hard blow across the face but she ended the husk with a shot to the head. With both hands on the crate, Gwen hauled herself to her feet.

She stared down at the husk, swiping blood from her eyes. _Even on my knees, I'll still kick your ass. _That much hadn't changed, at least. Even if she was meat laced with wires, she still had that core of determination that had forced her to drive a damned Mako through a mass effect relay, rather than admit defeat.

It was then she noticed the rifles had gone silent. She hoped that meant all the enemies were dead.

Gwen stepped away from the crates and limped through the courtyard, around abandoned supplies, husk and Collector corpses, and piles of tires. She found Zaeed on the ground, bleeding and dazed, but she pulled him to his feet, checked him over, and decided he'd live. Together, they located Garrus, who looked as though he'd done some hand-to-hand with his rifle butt. Husks were bastards at close range.

"You both okay?"

Zaeed nodded. "I'll live. That—that was a proper fight."

"There must be more incoming—" Garrus started to say, but a mechanical rumble stopped him.

The construct that dropped of the sky was like nothing she'd ever seen: a black-shelled mech-thing that looked like a cross between a crab and a squid. Purple energy undulated from it; the rays struck the tires, which smoldered, melted into a pool of dark liquid.

"Holy shit," Gwen breathed.

"What the fuck is that thing?" Zaeed demanded, diving for cover.

"I have no idea," she answered. "But we gotta kill it."

She got out the grenade launcher.


	15. Chapter 15

Fifteen

The thing was as big as a gunship; it had shields and armor, plus that purple radiation. He'd never seen tech to match it. Garrus didn't specialize in heavy weapons. He had his choice of sniper and assault rifles, and the mech ignored his normal shots; they bounced right off.

As an arc of energy sliced toward him, Garrus dove. He learned quickly to keep moving. There was no cover sufficient when the enemy could jump forty yards in the air, strike from above and land on top of you. Its movements were arachnid. Snipers didn't usually shoot on the move; he was accustomed to bunkering down and executing precision shots from his vantage of choice. This foe required a different strategy. So he chose the assault rifle and laid down heavy rain. The onslaught whittled away at the barrier shimmering around the mech, but it felt insufficient, too slow.

_Need a better strategy. _

He scrambled around some crates; a particle beam seared where he'd been standing a few seconds before. He unloaded using concussive shot while Zaeed did the same. The shields dropped just long enough for Gwen to warp its armor, but damn, the thing was tough. When the mech emitted a low hum and started to vibrate, he ran. Energy exploded outward, scoring the ground in a smoking circle. Crates melted and exploded, shards of synth shrapnel rained down.

From the other side of the compound, he heard Zaeed bitching. "What I wouldn't give for a rocket launcher."

He watched as Gwen steadied her grenade launcher and fired. Clean hit. The explosion rocked the ground and burned away more of the creature's armor, and then the shields came back. Again, he and Zaeed deployed concussive shot and then ran like hell before the particle beam could vaporize them. It slanted over Garrus's head, so he felt the buzz of the energy on his fringe.

_Close call. Too close. _

He sprinted toward a truck that was already smoking. _This might not be the safest spot, but it's taller than the crates. _

Three grenades exploded in quick succession. Then Gwen shouted, "Dammit, I'm almost out of ammo. I need you take out those shields once and for all."

"Sit down!" Zaeed yelled at the giant spider mech.

Garrus wheeled around the truck and aimed another round. The subsequent impact dispersed the shields, and Gwen launched a grenade. This time, she was off target and it exploded around the creature's legs. It rumbled again, powering up to the incredible area attack that melted everything it touched.

_More than a few seconds exposure to that would mean instant death. _

"Get clear!" Garrus called.

"Can't," Gwen responded. "There are some grenades on the other side of the courtyard."

"Are you out of your mind?"

But she didn't listen. She ran for it, weaving around crates, leaping, ducking and sliding, until his throat closed with fear. This woman had no caution, no sense of self-preservation, maybe because she'd died once, and she felt like she had nothing left to lose.

_You have me, _he thought.

But perhaps he didn't weigh heavy enough against the mission. Fear threatened to paralyze him, but he fought it back. He opened fire on the mech, trying to draw its attention away from Gwen, but she had done the most damage to it. There was no way it would focus on anyone else, now.

She reached the ammo box just as the thing finished powering up. The energy radiated outward, tearing into Gwen's shields. She should have run, but they were so close to destroying the thing that she stood her ground. He and Zaeed laid down fire, negating its barrier, but it wasn't enough. Regular rounds didn't do sufficient damage against such heavy armor. He got out his sniper rife in desperation.

The burn continued as she loaded the grenade launcher. Her skin started to dissolve, showing threads of blood and her eyes went red. She staggered, dropped to her knees, and he was so afraid in that moment that his heart nearly stopped. The weapon trembled in her hands, but somehow, she got that last shot off. The grenade arched up perfectly and it ripped through a vulnerable spot in the mech's armor. It didn't go out quietly, though. The explosion rocked the whole compound, unleashing an onslaught of violet rads. Garrus stumbled to one knee as Gwen flew back, slamming into the far wall of a prefab housing unit.

Using his claws, he vaulted the wreckage between them and ran to her. Drew her up into his arms, against his armored chest. Her skin showed severe burns, black with red beneath, and she lay limp in his arms. Terror tasted sharp on his tongue, a metallic tang, punctuated by the heavy alkaline pall in the air. Garrus tugged at her armor, unstrapping with trembling claws. His clumsiness should have drawn an objection from her, given her injuries. It didn't.

_No, no, no, my love. I haven't told you. Don't die on me. _

In the background, EDI updated the merc on the defense tower. The GARDIANs went weapons hot, unloading on the Collector ship.

_We could've done that from the Normandy, _he thought desperately._ There was no reason for a ground team. No reason for her to suffer. _

He lay his cheek against hers; Gwen didn't seem to be breathing, and his mouth wasn't shaped for turian to human resuscitation. "Zaeed, get over here. Now!"

Before the merc reached them, she jerked in his arms, and a gasp escaped her. Inside her, the Cerberus implants were repairing the damage. Gwen shuddered. He combed her hair away from her face with his talons, fighting the frenzy trying to overtake him. _Why must it always be her? _The instinctive need to destroy all threats to the female he loved roiled within him, pure volcanic intensity. His whole body shook from the force of it. _I almost lost her. _But there was nothing left to kill, no outlet for this extremity of emotion. So he ate it like poisoned fruit, and it burned all the way down. _  
_

"Gwen, can you hear me?"

She huffed out a slow breath. "Yeah."

Words warred within him. He didn't have the right to chastise her like he wanted to—and he couldn't whisper endearments into her hair, either. Garrus contented himself with saying, "That was pretty stupid."

"That thing wasn't going down without heavy weapons. It would've killed us all."

Zaeed nodded. "You're a bonafide bad-ass, Shepard. I'll fight beside you any day."

"That's because she takes all the insane risks," Garrus growled.

The merc laughed. "It's goddamn nice _not_ being the crazy one on the team for a change."

"Get me up," Gwen said. "We have to finish the mission."

_Fuck the mission, _he thought. _You almost died. If you do that to me again, I don't think I can survive it. _He'd have nightmares about that moment when her body went sailing, like her spirit had already fled. _  
_

"You need to see Dr. Chakwas."

She waved a dismissive hand, despite her wounds. "I can hardly feel it now."

Her blue eyes shone bright in a soot-stained face, above the scrapes and burns. But they were bleak with the knowledge that it was Cerberus tech numbing her pain, speeding her to a faster recovery than normal humans enjoyed. That awareness cast her face in bleak lines as he pulled her to her feet.

Behind them, the GARDIAN defense intensified the bombardment on the Collector ship. With a great boom, the vessel withdrew, jets of flame and dark smoke wreathing its withdrawal. The towers kept shooting, long after it rose out of range.

"Don't let them get away!" The craven mechanic they'd encountered earlier came running out of one of the buildings.

"There's nothing we can do now." Gwen's shoulders slumped.

"But half the colony's in there," the coward whispered. "They took Egan and Sam and Lilith. Do something!"

"I did what I could." Garrus could tell the reply hurt her, like every admission of failure. She would take this loss hard, clutch it to her chest like a child.

"You fought like hell for them, Shepard. Nobody could've done more," Zaeed said.

The mechanic repeated, "Shepard? Wait, I know that name. You're some big Alliance hero."

"Commander Shepard. Captain of the Normandy. The first human Spectre. Saviour of the Citadel." Ashley—who served on the first Normandy with them—emerged from between two buildings. "You're in the presence of a legend, Delan. And a ghost."

The mechanic glared. "All the good people we lost and you get left behind? Figures. Screw this. I'm done with you Alliance types." The man stomped off, and Garrus didn't watch him go.

Ashley paused a safe distance away, looking wary. She wore a uniform that he thought meant she'd received a promotion. He couldn't recall for sure, as Alliance uniforms had never been an area of expertise for him. "I thought you were dead, Shepard. We all did."

Despite her dark mood, Gwen summoned a smile. Garrus could tell it was real. "Ash. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

Ash's eyes widened, her hands curling into fists. "That's all you have to say? You show up after two years and just act like nothing happened?"

"I've been in a coma for the last two years while Cerberus rebuilt me." Gwen took a step back, as if anticipating an outburst.

"You're with Cerberus now? Shit." Ashley turned a furious stare on him. "Garrus, you too? I can't believe the reports were right!"

"Reports? You mean you already knew?" he asked.

Ashley paced, three steps forward, three steps back. Agitation punctuated her words. "Alliance Intelligence thought Cerberus might be behind the missing human colonies. They got a tip this colony might be the next one hit. Anderson stonewalled me, but there were rumors that you weren't dead… that you were working for the enemy."

He saw Gwen's emotional withdrawal, the moment she realized this wouldn't be a friendly reunion. Her voice cooled. "I don't take orders from them."

"Do you really believe that… or is that just what Cerberus wants you to think? I wanted to believe the rumors that you were alive, but I never expected this." Ash spat the words. "You turned your back on everything we believed in. You betrayed the Alliance."

"You know I'd only do this for the right reasons." Even now, Gwen couldn't help the urge to try and make her motives transparent. Garrus wanted to tell her there was no point. "The Collectors are targeting human colonies because they're working with the Reapers. Cerberus is the least of our problems."

"I want to believe you, Shepard," Ash said, "but I don't trust Cerberus. They could be using the threat of a Reaper to manipulate you. What if they're behind it? What if they're working with the Collectors?"

He couldn't let the woman accuse Gwen a second longer. If she was pissed at him for stepping in, so be it. "Damn it, Ash, you're so focused on Cerberus that you're ignoring the real threat."

Gwen put a hand on his arm, staying him. Then she spoke to Ashley. "I can see that you're not going to listen to reason—"

"You show up after two years and tell me you're working with Cerberus," Ash said angrily. "Where does reason figure into any of this? You've changed but I still know where my loyalties lie. I'm an Alliance soldier, and I always will be. I've got to report back to the Citadel. They can decide if they believe your story or not."

Finally, Gwen admitted defeat. She sounded sad, the expression echoed in the downward droop of her mouth. "They won't. They'll blame the geth again… or Cerberus. Just like you."

Ashley turned away. "A leopard can't change its spots. Cerberus can't be trusted. Goodbye, Shepard… and be careful."

"What a bitch," Zaeed said. "Angry, too. Did you sleep with her sister, Shepard?"

Visibly startled, Gwen laughed, and Garrus felt a pang of gratitude for the merc, who was an irreverent bastard, but maybe that was exactly what she needed right now—somebody to make light of this rejection. He shifted her hand down his arm and laced his fingers through hers. He wanted to hold her, but even though she had put their relationship out in the open, he suspected she wouldn't want him to make her look weak in front of anyone else. He'd comfort her in private, if she needed it.

"Not that I recall," she said dryly, "but there _was_ one wild night on the Citadel…"

"There were no human females involved," Garrus said, deadpan. "When I saw you last, you'd picked up a krogan."

She was smiling at least, even if melancholy still tinged her eyes. Gwen signaled the Normandy. "Send the shuttle for extraction, Joker. I've had enough of this place."


	16. Chapter 16

Sixteen

It had been a long few days.

First, there was the debrief with the Illusive Man after the mission, who always had something else on his to-do list. After Gwen briefed him, he handed her more dossiers, people she had to pick up. Their skills would be invaluable, the Cerberus asshole claimed. And that was never simple. There was always a complication, another Gordian knot to unravel. _Just once, _she thought, _what I wouldn't give to ask somebody for help and for them to say, _no problem, let me get my stuff.

Then, earlier today, there had been a huge argument over her intention to wake up the tank krogan. The Illusive Man had requested muscle for this mission, and so he'd damn well get it. Gwen wouldn't tolerate being second-guessed on her own fucking ship. She went hot at the memory of staying calm and explaining her reasons when she wanted to knock some heads.

In the end, the confrontation went well. She had enough command experience to dominate him and order him to stand down. The krogan, who for reasons known only to himself, decided his name was Grunt, had agreed to serve. He didn't care about the Collectors; he only wanted to kill things. Frankly, that was good enough for her. She was tired of people with complex motivations and dubious loyalties. You could trust a krogan's word when he said he liked smashing skulls.

Soon after, she realized she hadn't done what she'd intended after returning from Horizon. So she rectified the oversight. "EDI, get me all the data you've assembled on the Collectors. I want to know the names of the different breeds, if there are any. And what the hell is a harbinger? Besides a bearer of bad tidings."

"Acknowledged," the AI replied.

Maybe she'd known about the harbinger at some point. If so, she'd forgotten. It must relate to the Reapers or Collectors, somehow. Need for intel prickled. She often wondered how many things she'd forgotten, personal and otherwise, when her brain went into deep space freeze, and then came back with a ghoulish electricity in the synapses.

_It's a wonder Garrus can stand to touch me. I'm only a step away from mumbling, _brains. The dark thoughts weren't going away as she'd hoped. And she still lacked her old sense of connection to the mission. It wasn't life; it was her job. Some might argue that was a good thing.

From there, the day just got better. The crew started coming to her with problems. Complaints. _Fix it yourself. Quit asking me to patch your wounds when I can't even deal with my own problems. _But she never said that. Instead she smiled and put on a sympathetic face and said, _we'll get to this as soon as we have time. _

Jack wanted to go blow up an old Cerberus facility. Miranda had some kind of family emergency. Jacob had gotten a message from his father's ship, more than ten years lost. There might be some kind of conspiracy since the shit all hit the fan at once, but that was unlikely. Wasn't it? Her head ached from making promises she didn't know if she'd be able to keep.

And then, there was the crowning touch on a spectacularly difficult, inglorious day. She stared at the drell she'd recruited on Ilium. The mission had been _another_ giant mess from start to finish. Pretty soon, Sheparding would mean blowing a place to hell. Which sucked when she preferred surgical strikes. Too bad circumstances rarely aligned these days to make that possible.

The drell's name was Thane Krios—and they had met before—ten years or so ago, on the Citadel. He had been drinking alone in one of the cantinas that came and went, changed management and signage, but nothing much altered otherwise. To her eyes, the drell had radiated a lonely, haunted air. Back then, she hadn't possessed nearly so much baggage. So Gwen sat down beside him, struck up a conversation only with the intent of cheering him up. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he'd suffered a recent loss, and he had the fierce glitter of doomed determination about him. One thing led to another, and before she knew it, they were naked. Yeah, he was the one-night stand she'd mentioned to Garrus.

_This won't end well. _

When they'd recognized each other in the tower, it resulted in a stilted, awkward exchange. What did you _say_? But after Thane learned her aim, he agreed to join up. Gwen almost wished he hadn't. Because she foresaw complications.

_It'll be fine, _she told herself. _Garrus will understand. And Thane won't expect to pick up where we left off. _

They'd returned to the ship in silence while Garrus cast her questioning looks. Clearly, he sensed the tension, and she'd hurt him when she suggested he had calibrations to check in the battery. She needed to settle this with Thane in private, in case there were doubts. Garrus's mandible had tightened.

_Another fire to put out, later._

"I'll go," he'd growled. "But I don't like it."

_And now... Thane. _

"Of all the corporate towers in all the world, you had to drop out of the ceiling in mine," she said then.

"I didn't expect to see you again." His intimate tone provoked a shiver, an entirely unwilling one, but an undeniable reaction. It was like he wanted to remind her they'd shared something, once. But she wouldn't get personal with him, and he seemed to register her intent. Thane's expression went passive, quiet, and it was oddly like watching the life drain from someone's eyes after you shot them.

_I didn't just hurt him. I did _not_. I don't have that power. He hardly knows me. _

_But maybe you were a bright spot in the dark, a lingering sweetness. _Certainly he had been for her. Recollection of his arms had gotten her through some tough times—a single night trotted out in fantasy when she was tired or lonely, because it was safe. This man was a ghost with no ability to hurt her.

_Until now. _

Gwen knew instinctively that Thane could upset the tentative balance on the ship. She hoped he wouldn't. Because she'd put away the comfort of his memory in pursuing something real with Garrus.

"I went looking for an assassin," she said dryly. "And found you. Imagine my surprise."

"We didn't talk much."

It was true; they hadn't. No confidences. No secrets. At first, it had only been her mission to make him laugh. And she'd succeeded—once—before his eyes went dark and dull again. They'd downed more liquor, until leaving together seemed like the only logical course. A young, drunk Gwen Shepard didn't blink at the idea of xeno-sex. She wasn't a bigot. For some reason, though, she'd never repeated the experiment. Not because it was bad, but because it was—

No. _Not_ special. It was just something that happened, a long time ago. Like she'd told Garrus, they had been two ships passing in the night. And if she'd thought of Thane for years afterward, well, she could hardly be blamed. He was good in bed, and he'd held her as if he would remember the feel and taste of her forever. Talk about tempting.

"I comprehend your situation, Shepard. You needn't fear I'll cause complications." He gestured to the Life Support Control Room. "This will suit me fine... I need little. I'll meditate."

That sounded like a dismissal. "On what?"

"How to find peace."

So whatever had been eating him ten years ago, he was still hurting, which meant it was dark and dire. It didn't make him less fascinating. She recalled the lithe grace with which he'd flipped down from the ceiling, the cool elegance with which he'd dispatched so many of Nassana's guards. Even Garrus had admired the clean headshot that killed the merc and left the terrified salarian workers alive. Somehow she suspected it was the last kind thing Garrus would say about Thane, once he found out who he was.

He wasn't wholly rational where she was concerned. That much she knew, whatever else his unspoken emotions. Their relationship had already muddied the mission because they couldn't stand to see the other wounded. She'd fought almost to her own death on Horizon to avoid seeing anymore of his blue blood on the ground. The horror almost overwhelmed her, as she recalled how it felt when the gunship took him down, blasting through his armor.

_Just one break_, she thought. _Just one._ This was more proof that if Shepard mark two had any luck, it was all bad. Apparently she'd shot her wad, fortune-wise, by eluding death. The reaper had little levity about such things, if mythology could be credited. Yet she'd hazard all the good cards she had left to see Garrus Vakarian safe.

_If anyone survives this suicide run, let it be him._

"Well. I'll let you settle in." She pushed away from the desk, feeling like she hadn't said anything that mattered, or acknowledged what lay between them like a ghost—a whisper of bodies writhing, a name moaned into an open mouth, and the taste of him sweet as honey on her tongue. Those old fantasies came laced with guilt, now, because Garrus would know. He read her expressions well for a turian, better than anyone had in years, in fact, human or alien.

_Impossible to keep secrets._

"Thank you," Thane said gravely. "You offer me a purpose, a path to pursue an honorable death, when I had given up all such hope."

_What the hell?_ She couldn't parse what he meant at the moment. So Gwen nodded and muttered a noncommittal response. There were more important issues to attend to, anyway. The drell didn't seem as if he was burning to reconnect with her, after the initial softness. He was a pro, excellent at reading body language. It probably came in handy when stalking his targets.

_Good news, there._ She'd give him some space and them both enough time to adjust to the idea of working with a random sex partner. Once the shock of having a memory stride back into their lives subsided, she was sure there would be no lingering problems.

_Yeah, right._

She strode into CIC and charted a course for some remote world Jacob needed to check out. That would be the first dilemma resolved, not because she liked him best, but he'd asked first. Miranda, on the other hand, could wait until hell froze over; Gwen just didn't appreciate the woman's attitude. Jack would come next on the priority list because she could tear the ship apart with her brain in a fit of rage. And then, they'd go looking for Tali'zorah, as she could use a friend on board, especially one who had no interest in sleeping with her. What did quarians look like inside those suits anyway?

"Aye, aye, commander," Joker called from the cockpit. He could use the intercom, but didn't because yelling broke regs and agitated EDI. They bickered like an old married couple. She half-expected to catch Joker with his pants off, some morning, jacked into the VI with EDI in some weird sex-sim.

_If only that was the least of my worries..._

"Let me know when we're close," she answered.

Finally, there was nothing left to do but head down to the battery. Sure, Gwen could dodge the conversation, until Garrus tracked her down in her quarters, but it would be cruel to leave him stewing, especially when she'd promised to keep him in the loop. From some angles, it could be argued she had done just the opposite, but it didn't seem fair to Thane that she invite a witness along, as if she didn't trust him to keep his hands off. Whether he liked it or not, Garrus had to dial down on the intensity. She still ran the Normandy and while she'd make some concessions for him, he couldn't command her outside the bedroom.

She squared her shoulders and got in the lift, braced for a difficult conversation. If past precedent had anything to contribute, she was about to face a furious turian.


	17. Chapter 17

Seventeen

"Calibrate _this_," Garrus growled, slamming an open palm against the wall.

He paced, unable to focus on firing algorithms when he was positive he had been shut out. She'd recognized the drell. In Nassana's office, their eyes had locked. Two beats or so, where the world went away, and he was the odd one out. Then the words fell between them, awkward and unsure, like two hands nearly touching and fluttering away. And there had been no mistaking the tension on the shuttle. He had been _so sure_ Gwen would explain it, any second. They'd come too far together for it to be otherwise.

_Wrong, Vakarian. She's got secrets. _

Then she told him to come and fucking calibrate the guns, like there was even a atom's worth of margin for error. The Normandy 2 functioned at peak efficiency. It was bullshit. She might as well have said, _Go away, so we can talk in private. _In fact, that would've been less humiliating. The only thing worse would've been if she'd actually said, _I can't wait to be alone with him. _

Waiting was one of the hardest things he'd ever done; and he did it as her subordinate, not her lover. The two roles sat uneasily on his shoulders, warring for dominance. With some effort, he tamped down his personal feelings and mustered the patience to let her come to him. There might be a reasonable explanation. It was a hunter's trait, in truth, and one he had perfected over long hours perched in a sniper's nest. In time, the door to the battery swished open; he was outwardly calm by then. He smelled nerves on her, nerves and dread. Emotional turmoil imbued her sweat with a sour note. Doubtful a human lover would even notice.

But he did.

"Can we talk?" she asked softly.

"Do you have time, commander?" It was unkind when he knew how much she needed to be Gwen with him, but he required that distance as a defense.

He had come to view himself as her partner, but she had proven, today, that wasn't the case. She'd dismissed him without explanation when it suited her—and it hurt. Need thrummed inside him, but she was capable of closing that door. He wasn't. At least, not without excruciating results. Turians didn't bond easily, but when it happened, it was a lock. No shifting, no fickle changes of heart. _Just mine and mine and mine, forever. _She had become his true north, the path to which his heart would always turn.

And the waiting felt like inexorable cuts.

Her breath puffed out, not quite a sigh. He wheeled then, wishing he didn't feel so out of control. Wishing she didn't have the power to destroy him with a word. Just... wishing.

He wanted to take her home to Palaven to meet his mother and sister. Wanted to show her beautiful things instead of the endless death that chased them._ Or maybe we chase it. _Garrus wondered if it was possible to walk away from fate. Certainly, it was possible to turn one's back on duty. He had done it. For her. And he would make those same choices again.

"I always have time for you, Garrus." She seemed hesitant, hands fluttering at her sides, not like Gwen, or Shepard, either. Her customary confidence was lacking.

"Just give it to me straight, whatever it is."

"You remember when you asked if I'd ever been with a nonhuman?" Quiet question, laced with subtext.

"Of course. And you said there was a drell."

_Please don't let this go where I think it is. The universe wouldn't do this to us. Not now. _

"That's him," she confirmed. "But I made sure he understands it was a long time ago, and I'm not looking to rekindle anything."

_So that was him. Her first alien lover. And the last, until you. _He wouldn't let himself consider why it had taken her so long to repeat the experiment.

"And... I couldn't be there because..." He trailed off deliberately.

"Sometimes you just can't be." His mind flashed to when she'd died alone, drifting. Choking. No, he hadn't been there for her when she needed him most. So she could be cruel, too. Fair trade, he supposed, for his calling her 'commander' a few moments ago.

She went on, "His arrival doesn't change anything. He's a hired gun for the mission, that's all."

So he quelled his desire to argue, his uncertainty, and his hidden insecurities. Things felt too tentative, too new, for him to confess how afraid he was of losing her: to war, to duty, or to someone else, someone who made more sense. On the shuttle, the drell had studied her as if she were a gift unexpectedly delivered. Gwen hadn't noticed, busy looking everywhere but at her former lover, but Garrus saw the heat and hunger in him. You didn't have a woman like her without wanting her again. Maybe she meant it when she said she felt nothing, but it didn't mean there wouldn't be complications. He could already feel it tilting at the status quo.

"Fine."

But that was the first brick in the wall. The first lie he let stand. Because it wasn't fine. Not at all. He hated the fact that he had to serve with a someone who knew how she felt, how she tasted, someone who had made love to Gwen before she was broken, who probably reminded her of a happier times.

"Are you sure?" She seemed surprised that he didn't want to talk more about it, vent or rage, whatever she expected. He supposed he had been more wrathful when she'd left him behind, but this was different, too awful and raw.

"Yeah." _Use your words, or she'll know something's really wrong. _"I have no reason to doubt you." Each syllable felt etched in glass and acid, slicing on the way out.

It wasn't her he doubted; it was himself. He'd failed so profoundly on Omega. How could this possibly end otherwise? What could he offer her? Not normalcy, not a family. Just... himself, and at the moment, that seemed paltry.

"I must admit, I'm glad you feel this way. I was expecting an argument."

"Did you think I'd want to space him for sleeping with you?" Somehow he made a joke of it when it was the most honest thing he'd said since she came into the battery.

"Maybe. I can't always predict your reactions."

"That's a good thing. Should keep our time together interesting." Another smooth rejoinder when his insides felt like broken glass. Too late, he realized how it sounded.

She stilled. "I didn't realize you had us on the clock."

"Nothing lasts forever. But we'll probably die before we get bored." He forced a laugh and an easy shrug, as if referencing the danger of their mission as opposed to the limited life expectancy of a cross-species relationship.

Her blue gaze scrutinized him with laser intensity, and somehow he bore it without breaking. He lacked the wherewithal to ask for what he needed, though he'd promised to be candid. Sometimes it was too hard to lay it out. Turians weren't all that skilled at talking about emotions anyway, which layered into his fear that he couldn't be what she needed long-term. His feelings for her were fierce and soul-deep, but a little secret too, like a song trilled in darkest night by an unseen bird.

His doubt seethed between them, but she resorted to levity, the kind of jokes they'd made before... before, everything. It was classic old Shepard, driving the wedge further between them. "You can't give up now, Vakarian. Who'll make me look good?"

"You'll always have my rifle at your back," he promised. But it felt like taking two paces away, the stumbling steps in a heartbreaking dance, one that would ultimately wreck him. Pain lanced up, piercing his armor. She could make it better with a touch, if she noticed, if she looked through the old Garrus and the wry humor. But he couldn't ask.

And she didn't see.

"Fair enough. After I take care of Jacob's issue and handle Jack, I'm making a run to grab Tali. It'll be good to have her back, won't it?"

He nodded. "Dextros have to stick together. It was fun teasing her about what she looked like inside the suit, too. Not that I ever got to see."

"Did you want to?" Deceptively soft, that inquiry. But it resonated with tension. Maybe even jealousy, and he hated how much he liked it. If he wasn't so leveled by the drell's arrival, he'd set her mind to rest. Tell her that it didn't matter who else he met—nobody would ever take her place.

Instead, he answered, "Maybe a little. It's hard not to be curious."

"Garrus, if you're trying to tell me something about you and Tali—"

"She's a sweet kid," he cut in.

_There. Make of that what you will. _He didn't mean to make her jealous, but the touch of ambiguity—that was intentional. _Let her wonder. Let her feel like I do for a little while. _

"Yeah, she is. Just so you know, I won't need you on this run. Should be quick, just check out the beacon. I'm taking Grunt because he needs some live target practice. And Thane's got biotics that will come in handy."

_Thane. _The way she said the drell's name filled his head with rage. Just a touch softer than the rest of the words, an easy intimacy. She'd called _him_ Vakarian for ages, through countless nights of battle stories, where they had been drinking buddies, then friends, and then eventually something more. But maybe not what he'd hoped.

_Everything ends. The minute the drell arrives, you get bumped off the A-list._

And yet neurosis wouldn't let him go down without a fight. "I thought I made it clear you're not leaving the ship without me. I can't protect you if I'm not there."

Her smile was haunted, sorrow-laced, like a sponge overflowing with rain. "That's the thing. You _can't_ protect me. I appreciate the thought, but I'm in charge, and I decide who goes and who stays. You don't have to like it, but you do have to listen... and abide."

_You're killing me, Gwen. One second at a time. While you're gone, I won't be able to think. There's only darkness and fear. _But he didn't say any of that, either, because she was _ordering _him to comply and he was, once more, only the turian who quit C-sec to follow her around. She was Shepard, the first human Spectre, the heroine who couldn't be killed, and who would carry the universe on her shoulders, alone. It didn't matter that he'd die for her. She didn't want him there to make the gesture.

"Understood, commander."

"Don't be like that, Garrus. I'd rather you just fight with me, if you feel like it."

He leveled a sharp look on her. "Don't pretend I have the right. If these are your orders, fine. I'll comply. But you don't get to ask about my feelings when you're telling me what to do. The two roles are mutually exclusive."

"Goddammit," she muttered. "This is why it's always a bad idea to mix relationships with chain of command."

_Always a bad idea. _The words echoed in his head, outlined in her frustration and regret.

"If you don't mind, I have work to do." There, that should be clear enough. He couldn't take another minute of this, of _her_. He didn't want to hear the speech about how this had been a mistake; it made things too complicated, and with a critical mission to complete, she couldn't afford to split her focus.

Those things were all true. And hearing it out loud would destroy him. He couldn't let her to say that they should never have gotten personal.

Not when it was the best thing that'd ever happened to him.

"Garrus—"

He didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge her. Surely she'd take the hint and leave. After all, she had a mission to prep for—without him. She stood for longer than he expected while he stared at the calculations with sightless eyes. Her breathing sounded quick, agitated, but he didn't glance round to see if she wore pain nakedly on her face. He didn't stir when her boot tapped the floor.

Eventually, she went away without another word. And part of him withered and died.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Mission before last, Shepard had opted not to take Garrus down to look for Jacob's father. Mostly, it was because there had been rumblings of discontent among the crew. People were saying she favored her lover on away teams—and that… was true. Since she'd always worked to maintain good morale, that criticism stung… particularly since it was justified. She had decided after the run to Illium that she had to be more evenhanded, rotating the mission roster more, whether Garrus liked it or not. She _knew_ he wouldn't, but he'd deal. He was a professional.

So she took the shuttle down to the planet, she brought Jacob and Thane. It hadn't turned out to be as simple as investigating space wreckage; they killed a number of helpless, devolved humans before they figured out what was going on. One screwed up sitch—as it turned out, Jacob's dad had spent ten years playing at being a feudal emperor. It was only when things started to get scary that he activated the emergency beacon. The things the man had done… Gwen shook her head in disbelief.

After that, she had handled Jack's revenge request, taking Grunt along to blow off some steam. Which was a good idea. The krogan had a lot of aggression to work out, and there were enemy mercs in the abandoned Cerberus facility. Grunt and Jack both enjoyed raw carnage, so that worked out fine in terms of cooperative destruction. It was awful hearing what Cerberus had done to the kid—and it made Shepard hate working for them even more—but Jack didn't want sympathy. She wanted payback. Now, the bunker where she had been tortured in childhood was a smoking hole, soon to be overrun by the mad herbivorous life on Peragia.

As for Shepard? She was fucking exhausted, but she had one thing to do before she could rest. Bringing up the galaxy map, she charted a course for the Citadel. It was time to take a break; her whole crew could use some R&R. The Normandy responded with a tensile leap, Joker murmuring confirmation over the comm. She stayed at her post until they docked successfully.

"EDI," she said, closing the interface. "Announce twenty-four hours leave, effective immediately. Everyone ashore."

"Very well, commander." The AI made the announcement and a cheer resonated through the ship.

Shepard felt eyes on her, and she glanced over at Kelly Chambers, who was nodding in approval. "This will be excellent for morale, just the boost we need to continue the mission effectively."

She said, "I may not have a degree in psychology, but I know people need to cut loose now and then."

It was odd being around Chambers, who always unnerved Shepard with her intensity. She was always saying stuff about the crew, sometimes inappropriately personal observations. The first time the woman commented on how she wanted to hug Garrus, Shepard had to work not to punch her in the face. Looking after Garrus was her job—or at least… it used to be.

He wasn't saying much these days. And each day, the distance grew more painful. She didn't even think of herself as Gwen, the woman, anymore. No, she was Shepard again-the half-machine-ghost-in-the-wires thing. The dreams were bad, haunting, and she had no fierce, stoic turian to drive them back when she woke in a cold sweat. No, there were only cool sheets and silence, a heartbreak recorded in a quickened heartbeat driven by terror, not sex. His smoky scent had faded from her quarters, leaving only the sterile cleanliness that hinted at her machine soul.

At first, she'd thought it was annoyance at being left on the Normandy twice in a row, simple weariness, or memories from the tragedy on Omega. You didn't get over losing a squad overnight; it wasn't like flushing a goldfish down the toilet, so she had been expecting dark moments like this. But she'd imagined he would let her help him through them. A frown creased her brow, as she puzzled over the best way to breach his silence and reserve. He hadn't been up to her cabin in three days, and when she came to the battery to talk to him, he was never around. In fact, on a ship this size, it was a wonder how good he was at avoiding her.

Which meant two things—something was seriously wrong—and they needed to talk.

"Are you well, commander?" Chambers aimed a penetrating stare at her.

"Shouldn't you be making some R&R plans?" she asked pointedly.

The ensign tilted her head and smiled, as if she knew how tired and miserable Shepard felt. "I'll get right on that."

She took the lift up to her cabin to change her clothes. If she was going to Purgatory, she'd better look the part. Maybe civilian gear would help her run quiet; it was annoying to deal with reporters with nonstop questions about her alleged death. She was tired of explaining herself, justifying her actions. The last time, she had nearly punched a journalist. Better to avoid that sort of thing, however difficult it proved.

Maybe she should've gone straight out, joined the throng of crewmen storming toward the airlock, but she took the lift down a level instead. One last try, before she headed out to get stinking drunk. She'd never given up on anything she truly wanted in her life.

To her surprise, she ran into Garrus as she stepped off the lift. Everyone else had gone up already, so the crew deck was deserted. Deliberately, she blocked the doors to keep him from sliding by. She folded her arms, waiting until his gaze met hers. Turians didn't express emotions on their features as humans did, but she had learned to read the angle of his arms, the flare of his mandible, the cant of his shoulders. And right now, it all added up to one thing; he wasn't glad to see her. Since he had been her best friend—her only friend—before becoming her lover, that cut to the bone. But she hadn't come this far to surrender so easily.

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

"Didn't you hear EDI? Mandatory shore leave."

"Give me five minutes."

"Shepard—"

She flinched_. At what point did I stop being Gwen to him?_ It hurt more than an open-hand slap. One breath, two, three, four, before she could speak.

"That's it," she bit out. "This is bullshit. Come _on_." Without waiting for his response, she dragged him into the elevator and hit the button for her cabin.

He didn't say anything, but he maintained a stiff, uncomfortable posture during the silent ride, and then she indicated he should precede her with a sweeping gesture. After a moment's silence, he did, but she could tell he didn't want to be there.

"Is this a personal meeting?" he asked, as they stepped into her living quarters.

"Everything between us is personal, Garrus." She took a seat, and he sat opposite, beyond easy proximity.

"Is it?"

"I told you once, I don't play games. So you need to tell me what's going on."

"With _me_?" He sounded startled, which surprised her in turn.

"You've been dodging me for days. You dismissed me from the battery before that. And now you claim there's nothing wrong? C'mon."

"I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop." It was a human expression, but one that had made it into intergalactic vernacular.

"Be more specific. Please." She slid across the sofa and took his hand, despite his instinctive recoil.

This time, she knew exactly what she was doing when she ran her fingers over his sensitive palm. His breath caught, a little growl escaping him before he locked it down. _That much is good, _she thought. _He still wants me. _

"It means you made it clear that our relationship is complicating your command. I can do the math."

_Oh shit. _

"You thought I was about to give you the break-up speech?" Her voice gentled. "Is that why you booted me out the other day?"

His head came up, his ice blue eyes meeting hers for the first time in the whole damned conversation. "Weren't you?"

"Garrus… I was _mad_. You were giving me attitude about personnel decisions. Much as I love rolling with you, I've got to work the rest of the team, too. Or they'll let me down at a mission critical moment. It's nothing to do with how I feel about you."

He puffed out a slow breath, and then reached for her with heartbreaking caution, as if he wasn't sure he had the right any longer. She curled into his side, feeling some of the sharp edges fall away.

"So you didn't mean it?" he asked quietly.

"Generally speaking? It _is_ a bad idea to mix relationships with chain of command… but I can't do without you, Garrus Vakarian. I'll work around the disadvantages, but you have to meet me halfway. Realize I don't make decisions just to aggravate you."

He rubbed the side of his face against hers, a desperate caress that she felt to her bones. "Everything I've ever touched, I've broken. I couldn't stand it if…" He trailed off, unable to complete the thought, but she heard the unspoken words.

"I'm not exactly the poster child for lasting relationships. But I want to do better with you. We'll make this work."

"Promise?" His voice rumbled a little on the question, and a shiver stole through her.

"Absolutely. We good?" Clearly they hadn't been before.

"We're good, Gwen." A kernel of tension dissolved at his use of her name. That meant something. Between them, it had from the first.

"Did you ever imagine we'd end up here?" she asked softly.

"Where?"

"Like this." His hand in hers, she stroked his palm in lazy circles, savoring the way he caught fire. "When we first met on the Citadel. You were working for C-sec, trying to dig up dirt on Saren."

His breath came faster, reflecting arousal. "Back then? No. You're human… and I didn't think of you that way. Didn't realize how much you mattered until I lost you."

"You made an impression on me from the beginning." She remembered how he'd boldly gone for a headshot on the thug holding Dr. Michel hostage. Praising him for his marksmanship had been the start of something beautiful.

He laughed. "I do know how to make a weapon dance." Then he drew her into his lap, cradling her in his arms. "I'm sorry. I should've known you wouldn't screw around if you had something to say. If you had meant to end things, you—"

She shook her head fiercely, pressing her fingers to his mouth to stem the words. "I will never let you go. The universe has taken damn near everything from me, but it _will not_ have you. There's no Shepard without Vakarian."

"You have no idea how it feels to hear that."

"I think I do. Remember, I paced for hours while Dr. Chakwas worked on you."

"At least it wasn't two years," he pointed out huskily.

"Yeah, you have me beat there. But that… it wasn't my choice." None of this was. The only bright side of working with Cerberus came from this—Garrus and moments just like this one. Gwen curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder, but there was an inherent tease in the movement. She nuzzled her face into the side of his throat, lips tracing the soft, sensitive skin. His claws skimmed her spine with exquisite delicacy; chills followed in the wake of each movement.

She added, "Don't do this again. I _missed_ you. If something's wrong, bring it head on, all right?"

"I can do that. But Gwen, I'm figuring this out as we go. Turians aren't big on the talking. At least not about feelings. Orders, politics, war? We can talk those subjects to death. This? Not so much."

She offered a teasing smile. "You already said you're not a good turian. So be bad with me."

"Is that an invitation? I thought we were all on mandatory shore leave."

Gwen came up on her knees, then shifted to straddle his lap. "We are. If you like, we can go drinking at Purgatory with everyone else."

"Is there a plan B?"

"Stay here. Get naked. See where that leads."

Garrus growled low in his throat. "I'm liking plan B."

She sprang off his lap and pulled her shirt over her head. "Then what're you waiting for? I'm all yours."

His eyes closed for a few seconds, as if she'd said something that moved him beyond bearing. Then he lunged with a playful snarl and carried her to the bed. "I think it's time I got a taste of what the vids call 'make-up sex', don't you?"


	19. Chapter 19

Nineteen

Pain to pleasure; so quickly, everything shifted.

Garrus had been fringe-deep in it, practically wishing for death ten minutes before. Because he'd lost the one person in the universe that he loved. And then? Then it wasn't true. The terrible truth was a lie, which turned everything upside, but that... that was fucking perfect. He could walk on the ceiling. Dance, even.

His chest carried a residual ache, but Gwen's touch would sweep it away. She fell back beneath him, and her eyes were a summer sky on earth, the blue of some fish he'd seen on the Citadel. He could fall into them and swim, but for now, he had better—more urgent—things to do. He'd feared they would never be together like this again—that her sense of duty wouldn't permit it. And really, how could he argue? His feelings didn't matter when measured against the mission. In his wildest dreams, he'd never expected her to choose him, not with all scars and faults, occasionally irrational demands.

He nipped at her throat as she raked her nails across the tender skin at the base of his fringe. He hissed at the pulse of arousal that made him want to possess her utterly. The impulse hadn't abated from last time. The argument and his doubt about her past with Thane only made him hungrier to claim her in an indisputable way, but she rose up on her knees and made logical thought impossible. She teased him everywhere: waist, behind his spurs, the soft skin beside his mandible, and she'd learned the secret turian language of desire. For every soft touch, she gave him a delicate pain, a press of nails, a fierce rake of claws, or a dig into softer skin; that was how a turian female told her mate, _You're mine. I'll do what I wish with you. _Then, of course, they fought for dominance. Reach, flexibility.

Garrus shuddered at the lust, building, building. It gathered at his core, primal as his heartbeat and more ferocious than a snap of teeth. In that moment, he'd have impaled anyone who came between them, anyone who tried to keep him from her. He couldn't think, could only—_yes_. She pressed her lips to the tender skin beside his mandible, then bit down.

"Harder."

She did it, and he snapped. Gwen went down under him in a single push. He raked his claws over her body, pricking it to life. It was miraculous that someone who felt so soft could be so tough. _The thing's she's survived... _Not just lust, but love drowned him in an inexorable wave. The last few days without her? That was true death, animation without life. No man, not even a turian, could live without his heart.

He pulled her wrists above her head, pinning her. As this was familiar ground, she didn't protest, but her eyes were so wide and blue, so open, that he could see to the bottom of her, all the doubts and shadows, all her secret terrors. But he couldn't identify the shape of them, whether they were monsters or spirits or long-dead ghosts. There was no regret in her face as she gazed up at him, only desire in the form of her full lips and silly human chin. She was such a beautiful creature.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

His tongue, hers. They touched. Tasted. Not each enough to hurt one another, but enough for the heat to multiply like a fire sucking all the oxygen out of the room. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and while he gasped for it, she inhaled after him. Such an intimate thing; and he breathed her in return, taking what she pushed from her lungs. It was more than kissing, more than sex. This was life itself, and he'd die without her, die if he couldn't be part of her. By the widening of her eyes, the flush of color that ran from her neck to her chest, she felt the same.

Desire gained weights and layers, until he tore at her uniform. It was impossible that he'd carried her to bed still wearing it. Seconds later, he flung the tatters to the floor and stripped, aching beyond words. Then he came back down to her; she wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his spurs. He let out a low snarl, provoked by the feel of her feet, just there. He wished he could feel everything about her; that she could come inside his exoskeleton and lie against his heart, as it beat just for her.

"Gwen..."

"Mmm." She arched when he touched her there. And there.

He bent his head, alternating the lick and nip, until she moaned. It was a weak sound. Possibly it should've disgusted him, but it only made him burn more, incited a greater predatory urge. His whole body trembled from the force of his restraint, but she held onto him, still touching with dextrous fingers and agile lips. _So good._ Each time he thought it couldn't get better, but now, now it hurt. She stroked the stalk of him, avoiding the tendrils, and his whole body clenched. _More. Stop. Everything. _

_Gwen. _

No more waiting. No more patience.

Garrus flipped her, releasing her wrists, so she could brace on her hands. He pressed a palm to the small of her back, tilting, and then he thrust. She was ready; she wanted him, but it was always a surprise to feel the slick softness, the flexible heat. _So alien. So... perfect. _Gwen circled her hips, taking him deeper, until he let out a raw growl. With a turian female, there would've been a bloody fight before he got her to submit. But here, now, she let him master her, possibly understanding how much he craved it. The pleasure went to his head until his fringe vibrated with it, a low note of utter longing. His whole body rang with it, just as he was drowning in her softness, her scent. Each movement sent another pulse of pure heat through him.

He worked her hard, holding her hips, no thought of bruises, scrapes, abrasions. No thought at all. And she took it, took him, until the pain fell away into the most primitive pleasure. His heartbeat filled his ears, rasping breath, creating a symphony with her small sounds, gasps and moans, the scratch of her open hands against the cool sheets as she writhed. Her body felt so small beneath him, small and hot and deep, incredible that she could, could—_oh_.

Her contractions took him by surprise, tightening and releasing, until he had no volition anymore. Garrus gave to her, then, in blind, snarling pushes. The flowering came on, rooting them together, and his own orgasm came in chills and cycles, a shuddering, endless gasp of delight that left him draped over her, unable to find his voice.

"And that's makeup sex," Gwen said drowsily.

"I approve." Eventually he found the energy to roll off her and gathered her to his chest. This was a human tradition, not a turian one, but he enjoyed it. There was some novelty in not having your bed partner run off immediately to do something more important. It made him feel... well, it made him feel _everything_. Garrus nuzzled the top of her head. She smelled... sweet. Odd word for a woman like Gwen, but it applied.

"It's getting harder for me not to mark you," he said quietly.

She arched a brow. "What's that, some kind of turian fetish?"

"Not exactly." Was it a mistake to bring this up? Too soon? He only knew that thinking things were over between, for good, had been almost as bad as believing she was dead. The universe only made sense if he stood by her side.

"So tell me."

"When turians mate permanently, we mark our females, so other males know not to mess with them."

"By 'mate', I assume you're not talking about sex." Gwen didn't look sleepy anymore, but she'd squared her expression until he couldn't read it.

"No. I used the word 'permanent' for a reason."

"You're saying you want to... marry me?"

"Not exactly. That's not a turian custom."

"You just want to hang a sign on me, then? To keep potential poachers at bay." She wasn't amused, he could tell.

"I have a feeling I'm explaining this all wrong," he said, sighing.

"Just tell me what it entails and we'll talk."

"A new scar, basically. One visible to the naked eye. But nothing disfiguring," he hastened to assure her, when she lifted a hand to touch her cheek.

"What, then?"

"Here," he whispered. "I'd draw the line here."

Garrus ran a claw down the side of her throat, and it almost killed him when she arched into his hands. He could snap this delicate throat, crush it so she could never speak again, and she just fucking let him touch her, any way he wanted. He traced two claws down the tendons, soft as moonlight. She shivered. There was _no way_ he could want her again. Physiology wouldn't cooperate for another hour or so, but the emotional ache was already present, quiet but inextricable.

Gwen smiled. "Is that all? Go on, Garrus, if it'll give you some peace of mind. I already told you I'm yours, no matter what. So now, tell the turian world, too."

His voice choked in his throat. For long moments, his hands trembled, fingers curled into impotent fists, the claws digging into the softer skin of his palms. He'd seen humans weep before, but turians didn't—and for the first time, he wished they could, because it might alleviate the stinging pain steadily climbing up his skull toward his fringe. There was just.. nowhere for so much emotion to go.

"Hey," she said, seeming alarmed. She knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder. "What did I say? Garrus, talk to me. What—"

"I left Palaven because I couldn't get along with my father, Gwen. I was never going to live up to his standards or be the turian he wanted me to be. In doing that, I left everybody behind—my mother, my sister. And since then... I've had nobody. I've had commanders. I've had assignments and colleages. But I never had anybody, until now, who said, _I belong to you. You can write it on my skin._"

"Oh." There was a sunrise of understanding in her gaze, clouds of blue, echoed with the tears he hadn't been able to shed. They slipped down her cheeks in silvery droplets, fascinating him.

"Nobody's ever cried for me, either." Garrus leaned in, tongue flicking out to taste.

Her tears tasted of the sea. It echoed in his ears, rushing, and it carried freedom with it. There would never be a more perfect moment, not during sex, not during combat. Praying he wouldn't hurt her more than necessary, he set his claw against her throat and drew it downward. She made no sound at all, even when her red blood—so _strange—_pressed through the crease he'd cut.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Not quite."

He called downstairs for the final touch, an unguent to make sure the scar silvered properly. A flustered Kelly Chambers delivered his requested item, and he dismissed her quickly, stymieing her attempt to peer past him into the cabin, at Gwen reclining in the white sheets. The mark would be lovely and precise, a gift presented and accepted in love. After he applied the salve, he kissed her, touching tongues, nuzzling, and then he rubbed the side of his face against hers.

"It doesn't hurt," she said. "If you were wondering. And I'll be healed in no time, thanks to the skinweave and the biotech floating around in my arteries."

Garrus laughed softly. "You don't need to reassure me, Gwen. I've seen you shake off death. You _wouldn't_ be overset by a scratch."

But _he_ might be. Because of what it meant. And the way it changed everything, as there were a few things he hadn't told her...

_I love you, Gwen Shepard. _

_Mate. Love. Life._

_Wife._


End file.
